Small-Town Dreams (28 page)

Jeff shook his head. “He’d never listen to me.”

Hope smiled. “Then we’ll have to work on that, won’t we?”

“Are you two going to come in and eat this before it gets cold?” Emily called.

“Uh-oh. We better get in there,” Jeff joked. “Mrs. R on the warpath isn’t a pretty sight. I’m telling you, you created a monster.”

“You just have your nose out of joint because you can’t wrap her around your little finger anymore.”

“I’ve noticed a certain amount of steel in her spine toward you these days. Like when you try to skip meals. You get away with less than I do.” He smiled that smile she saw rarely lately, and her heart turned over.

There was something about Jeff that she had learned over the years. It was a simple truth that he’d never understood his power over women. He used it unconsciously and never really knew what he did that attracted them. It was that unconscious artlessness that she’d fallen in love with first.

Since his accident, he’d obviously tried to analyze what used to have women flocking to his side and giving him his way. He’d tried arrogance. Tried carelessness. Even tried looking pathetic. But none of those things had anything to do with his real charm.

His charm was in the air of naïveté his smile showed. It gave away his obliviousness to the very thing women couldn’t resist. He projected that charm by the boatload with his hopeful smile and the mischief glimmering in his eyes.

And that gave her a sudden brilliant idea.
Let this be from you, Lord,
she prayed.
Please don’t let me make a mistake and destroy whatever Jeff feels for me.

They had all discussed Jeff’s needs and what he had to learn to do on his own in case he never walked again. At first Hope hadn’t wanted Curt to spend time on anything but helping him walk. It smacked of giving up. But Curt Madden knew his stuff, so she’d backed off. Next on the agenda was for Jeff to learn to survive in the kitchen. But Curt hadn’t yet told Jeff that today was the day they’d start working in Emily’s domain. And Jeff hadn’t a clue how to manipulate Emily these days because he was trying too hard and she saw right through his efforts.

Hope arched an eyebrow and smirked at him.

“What’s that look about?” he demanded, taking up Hope’s challenge as if on cue.

“She’s just fussing over my eating habits. She feeds me wherever she can find me. But who was it who had to come to the lunch table yesterday when he wanted to eat in the whirlpool? It’s your number Emily’s got.” She could almost see that wonderful competitive streak rise in him.

“At breakfast we’ll see who she pays more attention to,” Jeff challenged.

Hope added another smirk, just to egg him on. “Okay, hotshot. If she pays more attention to you than me, I have to do something you want me to do. And the same goes for you.”

“Anything?” he asked with a strange gleam in his eyes.

Hope glared, wondering what was going on in his mind. “Anything as long it isn’t immoral or dangerous,” she added, to be certain all her bases were covered.

Jeff nodded and pivoted the chair toward the breakfast room door, and she sailed in behind him, dropping into one of the fruitwood chairs. Sunshine glinted though the crisp curtains and shone on the copper sugar bowl and creamer on the table. She loved this room. The hominess of it. Like Jeff’s room—his real room upstairs—the kitchen and breakfast nook area no longer suffered the cold brush of his mother’s stark taste. This was one of the few rooms Jeff had bothered to redecorate after her death.

“I have a lot on my list for today, Emily. I really just want coffee,” Hope said.

“You will do no such thing!”

“Then would you mind if I ate in the study?”

“Oh, not at all dear,” Emily replied with a sweet smile. “I’ll just fix you up a nice tray.”

Hope sent a smirk Jeff’s way as Emily fussed. Trying to cause as little work for her as possible, Hope got out the tray and grabbed a place setting of flatware off the table.

As the older woman set a plate on the tray, Jeff said, “You know, that looks like a good idea. Would you bring mine into my room?”

“No, I will not. You just get yourself right up to that table and eat like a gentleman. Honestly, as if a body hasn’t got more to do than wait on you hand and foot.”

Jeff stared at Emily in amazement, then he looked toward Hope, his eyes narrowed. “You set me up.”

Hope shook her head. “You set yourself up, pal. We leave at six-thirty.”

“Leave?”

“We’re going out tonight. Dress casual. Or are you going to welsh on our bet?”

A muscle in his jaw pulsed as he gritted his teeth. “I’ll be ready.”

Jeff pushed his way toward the door to the hall feeling like a man on his way to his own execution. He stopped and glanced at his watch. Six twenty-five. At least he was right on time. Hope thought she was going to teach him something about human nature tonight, but it was Hope who was in for the lesson. Unfortunately, it would mean his own humiliation.

Muscles knotting and dinner lying like a rock in his nervous stomach, Jeff forced himself to roll forward. Hope and Curt stood in the foyer. “Coming to help or watch?” he asked Madden.

Curt stepped forward. “Jeff, if you don’t want to go—”

“No, I don’t want to go, but I let her push me and I lost. If I was stupid enough to fall into her trap, then I guess I ought to be man enough to pay the piper.”

“Jeff—” Hope began.

“I don’t want or need your backpedaling,” he cut in. “Let’s get this over with. I assume the answer to my earlier question was help,” he told Madden. “So how do we go about getting the invalid into the car?”

“It’s a van and it’s equipped with a chairlift,” Hope told him.

“Think of everything, don’t you?” he grumbled.

It took a little longer than he liked, but Jeff soon found himself ensconced inside the van. Curt climbed behind the wheel and Hope climbed in next to him.

“So, where are we going?” Jeff asked.

“The Tabernacle.”

Incredulous, he stared at her for a long moment. Jeff could have sworn he felt his blood pressure skyrocket. She wouldn’t! “I am not going to your church. You know how I feel about that!”

“You said anything. If you had won, what were you going to ask me to do?”

He felt like a volcano overdue to blow. She was too much! “I was going to make you go home,” he snapped.

“And I want you to go out. No one at the Tabernacle will stare or point or ask embarrassing questions. I know these people. They’re good and decent and kind. This will be the perfect place for you to start getting out into the world again. I’m not demanding you listen to Pastor Dillon. Sit and twiddle your thumbs. I don’t care.”

“Take me home,” he demanded.

“You promised! What are you afraid of?”

Jeff gritted his teeth. Why did she always make him feel like a coward? “I’m not afraid! Fine. I’ll go to your stupid church.”

I
t didn’t take nearly enough time to get to the church, Hope thought. Jeff was still silently brooding. The sight of the big converted barn usually washed a sense of peace over her. Not so tonight. She looked at Jeff, his expression forbidding as the lift carried him to the ground and he sank from her view. Her nervous stomach flipped. She thought he’d relax a little on the ride. Lose the scowl, at least.

“Maybe we should leave,” she whispered to Curt Madden as Jeff rolled forward and off the lift a few seconds later.

“Not on your life,” Curt told her as he closed and locked her door. “He’s here, and right now, I don’t care to tempt fate by suggesting that this is too much for him. Jeff’s lost enough pride.”

“That’s my fault. I think he hates me to see him fail.”

Curt nodded. “Yeah. He does. But that’s also an advantage because he works harder to keep you from seeing him fall flat on his face.”

“Are you two going to stand there and whisper about me all night or are we going to get this over with?” Jeff snarled.

“Sorry,” Curt said. “You think you can handle getting in yourself? I’m on stage tonight.”

“Go. I’ll handle it,” he told Curt, then looked at the rustic building. “This isn’t the church you used to go to. I thought you said you’ve known Curt since you two were kids.”

“This isn’t where we met. By coincidence we both come here now. Aunt Meg found the Tabernacle just after they started meeting at the firehouse. Curt was already a member with his parents.”

“What kind of crazy church meets in a firehouse then moves to a barn?”

“It’s my kind of church.” Hope grinned. The Tabernacle was a little unconventional. That’s why she loved it. “You go in the front door and the love of the Lord is just in there. Pastor Jim and some of the original members helped rebuild the building from the framing out with their own two hands. He says he just couldn’t tear it down even though that was the original plan. That smaller building next to the barn is for our youth ministry. Pastor Jim moved it up here from the back of the property a couple years ago. He did the finish work on it almost single-handedly. That was just before he remarried his wife.”

“Your pastor was divorced?”

After a chuckle, she added, “He’s also recovering alcoholic. The church actually started as an Alcoholics Anonymous Bible study. He still runs AA meetings out of the church. Quite a colorful bunch around here. We’re all sinners, Jeff. No one considers themself better than anyone else at the Tabernacle. If you’d give us a chance, you might find you even like us.”

Jeff looked at her, his expression inscrutable. “I like you just fine. It’s all the holier-than-thou strangers in there that I’m not too sure of.” He looked at himself. “You said dress casual. Are you sure I don’t clash with the chair or their dress code?”

Hope spread her arms and turned so he could inspect her denim skirt and casual top. “Does it look as if I dressed up? Believe me, in chinos and a golf shirt you’re overdressed, if anything. And how could black clash with a mostly black chair?”

Jeff didn’t crack a smile but pivoted and pushed toward the ramp and the front doors. He stopped and pointed down the hill at the new construction toward the back of the property. “What’s that?”

“A house for Pastor Jim and his family. It still needs a lot of work. Since his wife just found out she’s expecting their second child, we’re going to be working pretty hard to get it done now that spring’s here.”

“Evening, Hope,” Pastor Jim Dillon called as they approached the front door. A tall, dark and handsome James Bond look-alike, he reached out and shook Jeff’s hand. “A new face,” the pastor said.

“Jeff Carrington. Pastor Jim Dillon,” she said, introducing the men.

Jim Dillon was probably the same height as Jeff, but he somehow managed to shake Jeff’s hand while not seeming to stoop to do it. “Welcome,” the young pastor said. “It’s always nice to see someone new.”

“Well, don’t get used to seeing me. She all but twisted my arm to get me here,” Jeff growled.

Hope felt her face flame.

Pastor Jim chuckled. “Kidnapped another one, did you, Hope? Well, don’t worry, Jeff. She’s harmless most of the time, and I’m sure that she’ll take you back where she found you after I get a shot at boring you for an hour or so.” He looked past them and waved as a van pulled into a nearby parking spot. “You two may want to move to a safe place. Here comes the Osborne tribe.”

Hope looked across the parking lot and smiled. “Come on. He’s not kidding. Five kids, two parents and two grandmothers are about to pour out of that van.”

They moved on, and Jeff, a bit less angry but still sullen, kept his eyes on the floor ahead of him. Hope sighed and silently prayed that the message would touch him.

As they entered the sanctuary, the praise and worship team, including Curt on bass, started playing. One of the ushers smoothly removed a chair as Hope moved into a row. “I’ll just get this thing out of your way,” he said to Jeff with a sheepish smile, as if it were the seat that was out of place and not Jeff’s chair. A fervent prayer that hearts would be touched by the study that night followed the first song.

Pastor Jim, who taught verse by verse through each book of the Bible, was in Exodus that night. “You know when I read this section of Exodus I start to feel really sorry for poor old Moses,” he began. “You have to look at what this guy’s been through up to this point and remember that he’s no spring chicken. This is an eighty-year-old guy who’s tromping around in the desert. And these Israelites are a tough bunch to play to. He must be exhausted by this time.

“I mean, here he is—God’s spokesman back in Egypt. He helped God get the Chosen People out of there after hundreds of years of slavery. He was the instrument of God’s wrath and called down all sorts of privation on the people of Egypt. Then when they were being chased, he parted the Red Sea and drowned the army pursuing them.

“Remember when the Israelites were thirsty and they came to poor old Moses to complain? He cried out to the Lord for them, and the Lord answered by turning the waters of Marah sweet so they could drink. Then they came to him grousing because they were hungry. So God sent them manna.

“Now how hard is this? Go to sleep, wake up and pick up the food that’s laying all over the ground. They’re told to take only what they could eat in one day. For a while it was okay. They had ba-manna bread. Manna-cotti. Marsh-mannas. But did this bunch stay content? Nope, some of them had to test God and keep more than they could eat in a day.”

Hope was gratified to see Jeff relax enough to laugh with the rest of the congregation.

“I know what you’re all thinking,” Pastor Jim went on. “If God was doing miracles like that in my life, I’d honor Him. I’d trust Him. I’d take what He gave and be happy for it. But would you? How many of us have been given everything we need to live and we’re still not happy? How many of us are out there Monday through Saturday trying to finagle a way to get more? And how many of us get what we’re after only to find that it’s all wrong for us, that it makes us miserable?

“How about those of us who really do need something? Do we remember to pray for it? Nope. We try to get it ourselves. And we usually mess things up more.”

Then, as was his way, Jim Dillon used his own foibles as a lesson for his congregation. He related how, during his courtship of his wife, he’d had trouble fully trusting God and that by trying to “help God” win her back for him, he’d nearly driven her away.

The study went on, but Hope kept going over the beginning in her mind. Was she doing the same thing? Was she refusing to put Jeff in God’s hands? She wasn’t sure, but she intended to pray for him a lot more and to stop trying to manipulate him. As Pastor Jim had once said, “We can’t drag our loved ones kicking and screaming into the kingdom. They have to choose to walk in hand and hand with the Lord.”

“So, what did you think?” she asked Jeff at the end of the sermon.

Jeff shrugged. “The guy can sure make an hour fly by. I remember being bored to death in church. At least he’s entertaining, and it has to be the first time I’ve ever seen a preacher in denim.”

Hope’s heart fell in spite of Jeff’s lighthearted comments. Were the jokes and levity all he’d heard? “Yeah,” she said, her heart saddened. “He’s a nice guy. Listen, I have an appointment to talk with him for a few minutes. Would you mind waiting here while Curt and the band practice and I have my meeting?”

“Sure. It’s not like I have a whole lot to do with my time these days. If you and Curt don’t have plans for me, I’m pretty unoccupied.”

Hope felt like crying. Was she that demanding? That controlling? She smiled, put her hand on Jeff’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “That’ll change, I promise. Well, thanks for your patience.” She backed away. “I shouldn’t be too long.”

Jeff watched Hope leave, wondering at her sadness. He’d been serious. It really hadn’t been too bad. He looked at the rafters over his head, recognizing aged timber framing. No wonder Dillon hadn’t wanted to tear it down. Glancing around, Jeff felt the peace Hope had mentioned. At first he’d thought using a barn for a church was incongruous, at best. Crazed, at worst. But it worked. There was an earthy grassroots feel to the place he’d never felt in the marble and gilt-edged church his parents had attended on holidays.

“That is one cool chair,” a young voice said, calling Jeff back to the present. He stiffened. He’d known it was too good to be true.

“You think so?” he replied tightly, taking in the auburn-haired teen lounging in a chair across the aisle from him.

“Oh, yeah. Mine was clunky and had a mean rattle in the wheels. It was impossible to sneak out of the ward to the toy room without getting caught. Sometimes I think they loosened a bolt or two just so they could keep track of me.”

“You were in a wheelchair?” Jeff asked, incredulous, the tension flowing out of him.

The young redhead nodded. “When I was a kid my parents were killed in an car accident. It left me so I couldn’t walk. I hurt my back in the crash and had to spend a lot of time at Shriner’s Hospital. But the doctors said I had a good chance to walk again and they were right. Is there any chance for you?”

Was there? Jeff wondered. It was hard to remember exactly what had been said before his release, but Curt and Hope seemed to think so. He watched Curt. The therapist was going over chords with the others in the band. He didn’t seem the type to pass out false hope.

“There’s supposed to be,” he answered the boy. “I’m in therapy working on it. Curt up there in the band on bass is my therapist.”

“Boy, are you lucky. My therapist was a lady. She was nice, but I’d rather have had a guy. You know?”

Jeff, noticing a blush heating the kid’s cheeks, nodded his agreement. Just then a high-pitched squeal rent the air, and the thunder of small feet resounded in the sanctuary. A tiny-curly haired dynamo barreled toward them. “Mic. Mic,” she called, her chubby little arms held out to the teen. She ran full tilt into the boy, whom Jeff assumed must be the sought after Mic.

The teen rolled his eyes. “I’d better find our parents. She has a way of giving Dad the slip. He’ll be frantic. You’d think he’d be better at this after our four-year-old sister’s terrible twos.”

Jeff watched as boy and toddler left the sanctuary and smiled. Would he walk that aimlessly—that unthinkingly—again? If he did, he wouldn’t take a single step for granted.

“I see you encountered part of the Osborne clan anyway,” Jim Dillon said with a chuckle as he sat where young Mic had been. “That was the youngest and the oldest. Mickey and Leigh.”

“He says he was in a chair, too. And that his parents were killed when he was hurt. How can God do that to a kid?”

A shadow passed over the young pastor’s face. “A trucker drove too many hours, fell asleep and hit Mickey’s family’s van. It was the trucker’s choice to disobey the law—not God’s. Mike and Sarah left four children. Thank the Lord the other three weren’t hurt as bad as Mickey. Mike’s brother and his wife have raised the four of them since. The little mop top he just carted out of here is their only biological child.”

“So you don’t blame God for the bad stuff in life, but you thank Him for the good. Pardon me, Pastor, but how do you justify that? I’ve got to tell you, I’m not sure I even believe in God.” He shrugged. “But then I’m not sure I don’t, either. He seems to be the only theory that makes sense. I mean, the world can’t be an accident. It seems too complex for that, but if He exists, how can He be so unfair?”

Jim Dillon didn’t seem to have a canned response. He thought for a few minutes, his brow crinkled, before he spoke. “God is all goodness. Therefore, good things must come from Him. Man has been corrupt since Adam and Eve fell from grace, so the bad came from man’s sin. God uses our mistakes to teach us, but they are our mistakes.”

“You make it sound so simple. What about an accident like mine? How’d that happen?”

The pastor pursed his lips. “That’s hard to say. I know Hope blames herself, yet there’s never been a kinder, gentler woman. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. She says she must have been distracted and missed what looked like heavy wear. She’s deeply burdened by guilt over it. We just had a chat about it, in fact.”

“I can’t get her to believe that I don’t blame her,” Jeff said, worried for Hope. She was wasting so much time on him.