Wisdom Tree (12 page)

“Yes…definitely.” She nodded and caught her lower lip between her teeth. “And you?”

“Uh-huh.” He tucked a curl behind her ear and skimmed her cheek. “Now I know.”

“Know what?”

“That I’ll lie awake all night, for sure…thinking about this, about you.”

“Me, too.”

Jake took her house key and unlocked the door for her. “Can I pick you up tomorrow…to help with the memory garden?”

“Nine o’clock, you said?”

“Sounds about right.”

“I’d like that. Yes.”

“OK, then.” He waited while she turned on the living room lights, and then did a quick sweep of the room for good measure. “Good night, Carin. I’ll see you in the morning.”

10

“I think we’ve managed to tame the weeds,” Jake said as he tossed the last bunch of tangled roots into the trash. “Would you like to take a break before we start on the bricks?”

“No.” Carin shook her head as she lifted one of the bricks from the dirt. “Look at them, Jake, all lopsided and muddied. It just seems…disrespectful. We have to fix them.”

Jake was deeply touched by her concern and thought of the way Rachelle had balked at the idea of getting her hands soiled when he suggested they work together in the garden last spring. It wasn’t right to compare, he chastised himself. The past was best left in the past. Yet he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“Oh, Jake. This one belongs to your parents.” Carin smoothed a hand over the mud-caked surface. “Ken and Susan…such proud names. They must have been wonderful people.”

Jake’s throat tightened. “Yes, they were,” he managed.

“You must miss them terribly.”

“I do.”

“Let’s begin here, OK?” Without waiting for his consent, Carin tugged the marble brick until it loosened from the ground. One by one, she lifted the row of bricks that arced in a semi-circle around the edge of the garden. She and Jake worked together, smoothing the dirt beneath and adding a layer of paving sand to level the area before carefully replacing each brick and gently washing it with a pressure-washer set on the gentlest flow.

“We used to have a group that maintained the gardens on the church grounds,” Jake explained as he moved on to the next row of bricks. “Mrs. Staley headed it up. But when she died last fall, things sort of disintegrated. It’s embarrassing, really, that the garden fell into such disrepair.”

“You can’t do it all, Jake.” Carin dipped a cup into the bag of paving sand and scooped up enough to level the next few bricks. She smoothed the sand over the ground, and then backed away a bit to allow Jake room to reset the row. “Your plate’s already overflowing. I like to garden. I wouldn’t mind to help. And I’ll ask Hailey to see if she can coax some of the other women into helping, too. Or maybe her Sunday school class…kids always like to help with stuff like this.”

“Really? That would be great.”

“Yes. I mean…if you’d like me to.”

“Of course I’d like that.”

“Is it too late to have a few bricks engraved and placed here among the others?”

“For whom?”

“For my mom. She died two years ago.” Carin hesitated, and a cloak of sadness dimmed the glow of her emerald eyes. “And…for my brother, Cameron. He died last May.”

“Your mom
and
your brother?” Jake shoved the bag of paving sand aside and sat on the sidewalk, crossing his legs. He eased her down beside him. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry, Carin. What happened?”

“My mom had ovarian cancer. By the time the doctors found it, the tumors raged through her like wildfire. She gave it a good fight anyway, but she couldn’t…it wouldn’t…”

Carin smoothed a hand over the row of bricks as tears filled her eyes, and Jake felt her grief as if it was his own.

“It’s OK.” He brushed a smudge of dirt from her forehead. “Let it out, Carin. It’s not good to hold the hurt inside.”

“So much pain…such unnecessary loss.” Carin wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her flannel shirt. “I miss her every day. I miss Cameron, too.”

“How old was he?”

“Just seventeen. He died…two days after he turned seventeen.”

“We can have a brick engraved for your mom,” Jake assured her, “and for Cameron, too. Write down what you want each to say, and I’ll take care of the rest, OK?”

Carin nodded and smiled through her tears. Wet streaks that ran down her cheeks glinted in the sunlight and left a trail through flecks of dirt that clung to her skin. “Thank you, Jake.”

“You’re welcome.” He removed his work gloves and offered her a hand. “We’re done here, for now. Would you like to take a drive with me? I have something I want to show you.”

“What about Corey?”

“He’s got a guitar lesson with Julie in half an hour. He and Dillon can finish up their work in the front yard until then, and then Patrick and Julie invited Corey over for the afternoon. The boys still have some work to do on that science project.”

“The one with the ant farm?”

“Yeah. And apparently, one of the boys forgot to secure the cover after their last observation, so the colony relocated to Julie’s pantry and got into the dog food. The two will be starting over—after they clean up the mess.”

“Never a dull moment with those two, right?” Carin tugged off her gloves and wiped the tears from her cheeks with the palm of her hand.

“You said it.”

****

Carin’s hair danced in a breeze that rushed through the passenger window of Jake’s Jeep. Soft music filtered from the radio as he steered south through traffic. He’d tugged a ball cap low over his brow and rolled the sleeves of his flannel work shirt so she saw the taut muscles of his forearms and the strength of his hands. That strength didn’t incite fear in her the way Phillip’s strength tended to when his temper flared. Instead, Carin felt a longing to know Jake better, to peel back the layers and find the man.

She remembered the kiss—two kisses, actually—that they’d shared last evening. Her lips still tingled from Jake’s touch, and though she knew it was best to keep her distance, she yearned for more.

“I love it out here,” Jake murmured as the traffic thinned and the Smoky Mountains soared majestically into an expanse of blue sky. “I never get tired of looking at the mountains, of seeing the burst of color that autumn brings.”

“It’s beautiful.” Carin inhaled the musty scent of leaves that changed color before her eyes. A cool breeze kissed her cheeks. “Do you smell the wild onions?”

“Yes…the last hint of summer before full-blown autumn kicks in.”

Jake rounded a curve and the road suddenly forked sharply. He swung the wheel to the right, and the Jeep scaled a winding gravel drive that ended abruptly in a grassy knoll.

“Walk with me?” He asked as he parked the Jeep. He grabbed a faded patchwork quilt from the backseat and gathered it into his arm as he hopped onto the grass and strode around the front of the Jeep to open her door. “I want to show you something.”

“OK.” Carin slid from the passenger seat, and Jake slipped his hand into hers. “I like it here. It’s…more than beautiful.”

“I think so, too.”

Together they made their way across the grass to where a massive oak tree stood sentinel. Its trunk spanned at least five feet in diameter, and the breadth of its branches formed a shady canopy over the knoll. The scent of its fallen leaves reminded Carin of the warm pumpkin-spice bread her mom always made for Thanksgiving, and she smiled at the memory.

“Oh, Jake. This tree is…” She struggled for a word that might do it justice, came up blank and had to settle for, “amazing…wonderful.” She stroked the rough bark and then hugged the tree, attempting to span the trunk with her arms until the futility made her laugh. “How old do you suppose it is?”

Jake pressed his hand to the back of hers and together they ran their fingers along the coarse trunk. “My guess is a couple hundred years, at least.”

“Wow.” Carin craned her neck to gaze through the branches into the cerulean sky. “That’s pretty old. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a tree this old.”

“I’d say it can tell a story or two,” Jake murmured, his breath warm against her cheek. Through the fabric of her cotton T-shirt, she felt the tautness of his chest muscles pressed to her back. “I call it my wisdom tree.”

“Your wisdom tree?” Carin turned to face him and the blue of his eyes, the strength of his stance, filled her with a sudden wave of longing. “W-why?”

“Come over here and sit with me, and you’ll see.” Jake left her long enough to spread the quilt along the base of the trunk, then coaxed her beside him with a pat of his hand against the carefully-stitched cotton squares. She settled in beside him, leaning her back against the trunk and stretching her legs over the quilt’s soft fabric. “Look out there.” Jake motioned with his hand.

Carin followed his gaze and her breath caught. The view of the valley below, backdropped by a crisp canvas of cloud-veiled mountains, was like a beautiful watercolor painting, expertly brush-stroked.

“Oh, my...” She couldn’t speak for the lump that crowded her throat. “It’s… breathtaking.” The sun formed a halo of light over the mountains, like a jeweled crown. And the mountains…they were a palette of maroon, earthy taupe and orange sherbet swirled together with the deepest blue-green. Carin felt as if she could reach out and touch their rounded tops.

“I know.” Jake sighed and took her hand. His gaze fell over the mountains, and she thought she saw a flicker of something…regret, maybe. Or perhaps he simply wished for simpler, less hectic times. It couldn’t be easy by any stretch of the imagination—the kinds of things he dealt with on a daily basis. Carin twined her fingers with his. “I come up here to sit when life gets all jumbled,” he continued. “It helps me to let go of the worry, and to remember how small I am and how great God’s power is.”

“So that’s why you gave it the name—”

“Yeah.” He nodded to emphasize. “My wisdom tree.”

“Oh, Jake, whose land is this?”

“It belonged to my grandparents and then my parents. And now it’s been passed down to me.”

“It’s so amazing.” Carin couldn’t draw her gaze away. “I could sit here all day, just taking in the view, the scents…the soothing brush of the breeze through the leaves.”

“God made all this.” Jake’s hand swept across the mountains. “Everything you see, He made just for us. How can anyone doubt His love…or His plan?”

Carin sighed, remembering the night of Cameron’s funeral, so soon after her mom’s…and the way Phillip had mocked her grief. Angry, overwhelmed by resentment, she’d turned her back on God.

“I…I’m embarrassed to say I’ve doubted, Jake.” She twisted a curl around her index finger. “Things have happened…things I’m not proud of.”

“You can trust me, Carin.”

You can trust me…
the threatening echo of Phillip’s voice gave her chills. He’d taken her trust and shattered it. Could she really trust anyone—ever again?

Jake seemed to sense her unease. “If you can’t trust me—yet, then trust God. He brought you here for a reason. He knows what He’s doing.”

“Maybe, but—” Carin sat up suddenly and pointed across the valley below. “Look, Jake. Is that the senior center? I think I see the pond.”

“It is.” Jake nodded. “You have eagle eyes, Carin.”

“The water sparkles beneath the sunlight like a precious jewel.”

“It always seems to sparkle, even when clouds cover the sky.” Jake leaned in, brushed the pad of his thumb across her cheek. “Maybe it does have some healing powers…at least as far as it seems to calm Pastor Julian when he’s near it.”

“Lilly always seems more aware, less restless, when she’s near the water, too.”

“I have to admit, I find a bit of serenity there, too.” Jake leaned back against the trunk and sighed. “The pond…my wisdom tree…there’s not a care in the world when you look at things from here.”

“Why didn’t your grandparents or your parents build a house here?” Carin asked. “They must have loved it as much as you do.”

“I’m not sure. My dad always said that my grandparents bought it as an investment, and my grandfather used to pitch a chair up here and just get lost in the sights and smells. I don’t think he ever had any intention of building—he simply liked to look. And my parents planned to construct their dream house when my dad retired from his job as an architect. But they never got the chance.”

“And you? Do you think you’ll ever build here?”

Jake shrugged. “I had plans to, but things fell through.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure I want to talk about it.” He lifted a corner of the quilt, twisted it between his fingers. “But I know we shouldn’t keep secrets.”

The words tossed Carin off kilter. How long would it be right—fair—to keep
her
secrets to herself? “You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to.” Guilt filled her, because she said the words in part to keep herself off the hook. She wanted to know everything about Jake…yet she didn’t…because that would mean sharing things about herself as well. Was she ready to open that door?

“No, it’s just…” He hesitated. “I was…engaged. It didn’t work out.”

“Why?” One simple word—a landmine of answers.

“My schedule—and Corey—got in the way.” Jake released the quilt and tugged the ball cap low over his eyes. “The truth is it was more than tough enough being pastor of the church when I lived alone. Toss in a rambunctious kid, and you might as well ignite a case of dynamite. It has the same effect.”

“Such imagery.”

“Comes in handy, being a pastor—keeps the congregation listening.” He ran his hands through a sea of leaves that crunched beneath his fingers. “But I’m serious. My time is never really my own. It’s definitely not your typical nine-to-five job, and the money won’t keep a girl in Gucci.”

“Gucci?” Carin laughed at the thought. “Who cares about Gucci?”

“You?”

She shook her head. “Not in the least.”

“Hmm…anyway, Corey and Rachelle were like kerosene and matches. It wasn’t exactly the makings of a happily ever after.”

“So you had to choose?”

Jake nodded. “But by the end it was hardly difficult.”