Listen to Your Heart
Irene Brand
Laurel Cooper was too busy planning her only daughter's wedding to make time for romance.But the fortysomething widow couldn't ignore the rugged photojournalist who'd appeared on her doorstep to photograph her antebellum home-turned-boarding house. Especially not when they spent so much time together as she gave him tours of other local historic homes.Micah Davidson made himself indispensable, even covering the wedding as a favor for his lovely new landlady. Yet just as Micah was about to propose, a shocking photograph surfaced, turning Laurel's world upside down. Could their love outlast the long-buried secrets from Laurel's past?
“My cell phone number is on the card, so please feel free to call. Did your cousin have reason to think you might be in danger?”
Laurel forced a laugh. “Of course not. We’re perfectly safe.”
But considering the telephone call and the letter in her purse, Laurel hoped her optimistic words had disguised her inner turmoil from her daughter Debbie and from Michah.
“Cousin Kevin is a worrywart,” Debbie said. “We have nothing to fear from our neighbors, and travelers wouldn’t know there’s a house out here.”
“But you are isolated,” Michah insisted, “so please contact me if you need anything. I’ll be here almost every night.”
Michah’s eyes revealed a warm tenderness and concern that made Laurel’s heart beat faster. Knowing his strength and intelligence were at her beck and call gave her the assurance that she desperately needed.
IRENE BRAND
Writing has been a lifelong interest of this author, who says that she started her first novel when she was eleven years old and hasn’t finished it yet. However, since 1984 she’s published thirty-two contemporary and historical novels and three nonfiction titles. She started writing professionally in 1977 after she completed her master’s degree in history at Marshall University. Irene taught in secondary public schools for twenty-three years, but retired in 1989 to devote herself to writing.
Consistent involvement in the activities of her local church has been a source of inspiration for Irene’s work. Traveling with her husband, Rod, to all fifty states, and to thirty-two foreign countries has also inspired her writing. Irene is grateful to the many readers who have written to say that her inspiring stories and compelling portrayals of characters with strong faith have made a positive impression on their lives. You can write to her at P.O. Box 2770, Southside, WV 25187 or visit her Web site at www.irenebrand.com.
Listen to Your Heart
Irene Brand
But the Lord is faithful, and He will strengthen and protect you from the evil one.
—II Thessalonians 3:3
To Carlene Thompson, a fellow writer and former student, whose fiction books have earned her a noteworthy reputation in the world of mystery and suspense.
And to Keith Biggs, also a former student, who contributes to my writing career by keeping my computers in working condition.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Letter to Reader
Chapter One
Persistent rain drummed a staccato rhythm on the tin roof of the back porch as Laurel Cooper leaned a ladder against the outside wall of her Tennessee antebellum home.
“There would have to be another downpour before that lazy contractor got here,” Laurel fumed. She tied her raincoat’s hood over her red hair and climbed the ladder. Laurel shook her fist at an offending eaves spout, which, rather than draining as it should, was spewing water into her favorite bed of hostas.
Laurel had learned to do a lot of things since she’d been the owner of Oaklawn, but this was the first time she’d tackled a leak in the middle of a thunderstorm. The raincoat provided some protection from the torrent as she took a hammer out of one of her pockets, stuck some nails in her mouth and leaned toward a metal strap that had broken and caused the gutter to separate. She scowled at several miniature ponds in her landscaping. With all of these delays, how could she possibly beautify Oaklawn in time for Debbie’s August wedding just three months from now?
Believing she was alone, Laurel almost fell off the ladder when a loud knock sounded at the nearby door. Recovering her balance, she peered through the screened back porch. Protected by a large umbrella, a man stood at the door.
“It’s high time you got here,” Laurel shouted above a roll of thunder. “I’ve been waiting two days for you to come and do what should have been done weeks ago.”
“I beg your pardon,” the man said.
“And so you should,” Laurel answered crossly. “My hostas are about ruined. Come and fix this leak.”
He left the doorstep and walked languidly toward her. She didn’t recognize him, but the contractor who’d renovated her home employed a lot of people. She’d seen many different workers during the renovation. As this man approached, Laurel backed down the ladder. She extended the hammer and nails to him, irritated that a workman would appear on her doorstep empty-handed.
A smile seemed to lurk at the corners of his mouth, but his vivid blue eyes were unfathomable. He laid aside the umbrella, took the hammer and nails and obediently climbed the ladder. “It isn’t funny!” Laurel said angrily. “I spent more money than I can afford on this project, and this is the fourth time I’ve had to have one of your workers redo something.”
The workman winced when a spurt of water splashed his face and drenched the front of his shirt.
Laurel bit her lips to stifle further comments, since her conscience hurt a little because the man was getting soaked. Maybe she should have delayed the repair until the rain was over, but she couldn’t afford to replace the plants. Besides, why would he come to work on a day like this dressed only in a cotton shirt and dress trousers? And without any tools? She knew reliable workers were hard to find, but this was ridiculous!
With a few deft movements, the man squeezed the guttering together, pounded three nails in the brace that held the guttering to the building, and the leak was fixed. Still atop the ladder, he turned and said, “Is the work satisfactory now, ma’am?”
His long, thick black hair, dusted with gray, was plastered to his head. Compelling blue eyes gleamed from his square, tanned face. He wasn’t a particularly handsome man, but his clinging wet clothes revealed a tall, rugged, perfectly proportioned body. Why did she have the feeling he was laughing at her?
Laurel realized she’d been staring at the man when he prodded, “If the work suits you, I’d like to find a drier place. I’m reminded of my dad’s expression about people who didn’t know enough to come in out of the rain.”
Annoyed because of his suspected levity, Laurel answered tartly, “As long as the water is going down the gutter, it’s okay. I’m sorry you got wet, but you should know better than to come to work on a day like this without a raincoat. Come inside, there’s something else I want you to do.”
Micah Davidson stepped down and handed the hammer to Laurel. He shouldered the ladder and set it on the porch, then picked up his umbrella and joined her. His humor at the situation was tempered by the fact that he was drenched.
“Ma’am,” he said, “let me introduce myself—”
“This way,” Laurel said, and motioned imperiously. He followed her into the broad entryway of the palatial mansion. She untied the hood, shrugged out of her raincoat and hung it on the rack by the door.
Micah’s eyes widened appreciably. The woman’s red hair, with tints of reddish gold, clung to her head in short curls. She had alabaster skin and a petite body, giving her an appearance of fragile beauty. Judging by the way she’d been bossing him around, she certainly wasn’t frail. Her green eyes flashed like neon lights when she was angry, and he thought humorously that, with her red hair and green eyes, her head would make a good Christmas tree ornament. He still had no idea who she was.
Laurel placed her right foot on the bottom step of the curved, hanging stairway in the central hall. The board wiggled back and forth beneath her sturdy white shoes.
“That board hasn’t been nailed down, and it’s an accident waiting to happen. My daughter tripped on it last week.”
Micah’s lips twitched as he said, “I’ll have to borrow your hammer again. And maybe a nail or two.”
“Just a minute!” Laurel said, suspicion dawning in her mind. “Why’d you come to work without any tools? Aren’t you from Bowman’s Contractors?”
“No, ma’am.”
Because of a sudden flash of embarrassment, Laurel’s temper flared again, and she said, “Why didn’t you say so?”
“I tried to, ma’am.”
“Oh, stop calling me ma’am. My name is Laurel Cooper. Who are you anyway?”
“Micah Davidson.”
“What’s your business here?”
He reached into his damp pants pocket, pulled out a leather case and handed her a business card.
“Micah Davidson—Photojournalist,” she read in a subdued voice. Laurel turned away from him and covered her face with both hands. He sensed she was close to tears.
“My miserable temper is always getting me into trouble,” she confessed in a muffled voice. “I’m so humiliated. Please go away, Mr. Davidson, and save me further embarrassment.” She turned toward him with downcast eyes peeking out over her hands. “Although I suppose I should be polite enough to ask what brought you to Oaklawn.”
“I noticed a sign along the highway indicating you have apartments for rent. I have an assignment in this area and I need a place to live for a few weeks.”
Still refusing to meet his eyes, she stared at the floor. “Would you like to come back later when you have dry clothing? I’m sure you must be miserable.”
“My luggage is in the car. If I can rent one of your apartments, I’ll have a place to change my clothes. Do you have anything available?”
“I have a vacant upstairs apartment. The central part of the house was built in 1830, but a two-story ell was added around 1900. I had that wing converted into four apartments when I inherited this house two years ago. They’re modern and quite comfortable. Come with me, and I’ll let you see the rooms. Most of my renters are students at nearby Walden College and are on summer break now. I hold their rooms for them through the summer at a reduced rate.”
Laurel motioned him to follow her through the rear door into a large flower garden, bordered by a white wooden fence. The thunderstorm had passed, leaving a moist, fragrant scent to the newly mowed grass. Drops of moisture decorated dozens of rosebushes, enhancing the sweet aroma of the flowering buds. An industrious robin pulled a fat worm from the damp ground and hopped across the wet grass to feed her fledgling off-spring. Micah surveyed his surroundings with pleasure. For years he’d rambled around the world with no place to call home. Why did he now experience the comfortable peace of belonging?
“I’m on assignment to photograph and write an article on antebellum homes in Tennessee and Kentucky,” Micah explained, “and Oaklawn is one of the houses on my list. I hope you’ll let me feature your home in my article.”
Laurel slanted a glance his way. His deep voice contained a pleasant hint of huskiness. “That would be wonderful! This house has been in my husband’s family for generations. I’m often overwhelmed by its vastness, but it’s my daughter’s heritage, and I’m trying to maintain it for her.”
Micah discreetly glanced at Laurel’s hands. Seeing no wedding band, he decided she must be a widow, or she wouldn’t have been the one to inherit the home.
Laurel opened the door into a two-room apartment with a small kitchenette. “It’s warm in here now, but there’s a window air conditioner,” she explained. “A senior at the college moved out of the apartment when she graduated last week. It’s been thoroughly cleaned since then, so it’s ready for occupancy if it suits you.”
Micah had noted the rent rate posted on the door, and he said, “Exactly what I need. I’ve already finished my research on Kentucky’s houses and I want to make my headquarters at one location in Tennessee while I travel to the various homes I’m researching. I’ll move in now, if that’s all right.”
“Yes, that’s fine with me.” She turned on the air conditioner and showed him where extra towels and linens could be found. With her hand on the doorknob, Laurel looked directly into his eyes, the first time she’d had the courage to do so since she’d learned what a terrible mistake she’d made.
“I apologize for my behavior. I’ve always had a quick temper, and just when I think I have it under control, I act like a shrew. Oaklawn is more than I can handle physically and financially, but my daughter, Debbie, wants to be married here in August. I thought the place should be renovated for that, but the expense has been more than I’d expected. When I worry about my finances, I get irritable. I’m sorry.”
Realizing that she was boring this man with her personal problems, she turned away. He’d come to rent an apartment, and she’d not only bawled him out for something that wasn’t his fault, but now she was complaining about her financial affairs. She closed the door and left without another word.
Micah had seen the quick rush of tears that glazed Laurel’s emerald eyes, and his heart reacted strangely. At first he’d been amused at her caustic comments, but now he felt sorry for her. While he’d been researching other homes, he had met numerous widows who lived in houses that were burdensome, but homes they felt obliged to retain for their children.
While Micah carried his luggage into the apartment, he looked more closely at the large redbrick house, understanding Laurel’s frustration. Judging from other homes of this period, he figured the main structure contained eight rooms or more. If he was responsible for a house like Oaklawn, he’d be short-tempered, too.
Debbie had been away for ten days visiting her fiancå’s family in Colorado, but Laurel expected her home for dinner. Conscious of the fact that she’d only have her daughter for a few more months, Laurel prepared some of Debbie’s favorite foods for a homecoming dinner.
Laurel had just shaped a pan of rolls and set them aside to rise, when she heard Debbie’s voice on the back porch. “Hey, Mom. I’m home. Where are you?”
“In the kitchen.”
It had been this way since Debbie had started kindergarten—she always called for her mother as soon as she entered the house. Debbie swept into the kitchen and hugged Laurel. She picked up a carrot from the tray of vegetables Laurel was preparing.
Tears formed in Laurel’s eyes, and she looked away to keep Debbie from seeing. She liked Debbie’s boyfriend, Dereck, and she wanted them to get married, but it would have been so much easier if he’d gotten a job closer to Oaklawn.
“Missed you, Mom,” Debbie said, giving her mother a hug.
“Me, too. How was your trip?” Laurel asked around the knot in her throat.
“Great! Dereck’s grandparents live on a ranch, and we spent one day with them. I’d met his parents before, but it was neat to get better acquainted with them. Their home is a lot smaller than ours, and not nearly as old. Dereck and I looked around for apartments and found one we liked. It’s occupied now, but will be free by September. We paid a month’s rent for deposit. I took some pictures to show you where I’ll be living.”
Debbie perched on a high stool and nibbled on the carrot. While she elaborated on the good points of the town that would be her home, Laurel smothered a sigh, already missing her daughter. Debbie’s narrow, candid brown eyes mirrored her excitement, and Laurel wondered how she’d ever given birth to a child who was so different from herself.
Debbie had none of Laurel’s physical characteristics, and while she didn’t look like her father, she bore a marked resemblance to her paternal grandmother, whose youthful portrait hung over the mantel in the parlor. Debbie had a heart-shaped face, with a little nose, uptilted at the end. She wore her light brown hair in a layered bob with a sideswept bang. At five feet nine inches tall, she was a half foot taller than her petite mother. Debbie was even-tempered, a trait she hadn’t inherited from either of her parents, for Jason’s temper had matched Laurel’s own. Perhaps that was one reason they couldn’t get along.
“Anything new happening?” Debbie asked, halting Laurel’s musings.
“I rented our vacant apartment this afternoon, so that will help pay the bills. I didn’t expect to rent it until the fall classes started at the college.”
When she recalled her meeting with Micah, Laurel felt her face flushing, and she was aware that Debbie watched her intently. Her embarrassment was still too keen to talk about her blunder, and Laurel was relieved when Debbie assumed the wrong reason for her mother’s heated cheeks.
“Mom, we’re spending too much money on the wedding. I can cut back on several things.”
“No. You’ve always dreamed of a big wedding, and you should have what you want. I want the house to look nice for the wedding. Dereck’s parents are paying for the rehearsal dinner, and our church family is helping out with food for the reception. We’ve already paid for your dress, so there shouldn’t be a lot more expense. We’ll manage.”
“What’s the new renter like?”
“He has an interesting profession. He’s a photojournalist, and he’s doing a magazine article on antebellum homes in the area. He wants to feature Oaklawn.”
“Awesome! Maybe it’s a good thing you fixed up the old place. What’s his name?”
“Micah Davidson.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of him! He’s world-renowned. His work has been featured on the Discovery Channel and in the National Geographic.”
A world-renowned journalist and she’d treated him like an errant child! Remembering her faux pas, Laurel wondered what Micah must think of her.
“Will I have time to take my bags upstairs and unpack before supper?” Debbie asked.
“It will be almost an hour before the rolls are ready, so take your time.”
While she did a load of laundry and finished supper preparations, Laurel was aware of Micah’s movements as he unloaded his car. He left for a short time and came back with two bags from the grocery store. She supposed it would have been a neighborly gesture to invite him to eat with them, although Laurel didn’t normally socialize with her renters. But she hadn’t had a tenant so near her own age before.
After dinner Debbie went to a party, and since a wispy rainbow indicated a fair evening, Laurel sat on the gallery. The house faced west, and the favorite part of Laurel’s day was to sit in a large rocking chair, listening to the birds settling for the night and inhaling the fragrance of the flower gardens, while watching the sun set beyond the distant hills. The scent of roses was especially strong tonight.
Most times when she enjoyed the beauty of her surroundings, Laurel’s thoughts were pleasant, but not this evening. It was always this way when she lost her temper. She couldn’t remember how many times she’d sat here and asked God’s forgiveness for her anger. Every time she thought she’d conquered this weakness, she’d stumble again. She’d lost her temper so many times, it was amazing that she had any left.
God, she silently prayed, I know Your word teaches to be “slow to become angry,” but I did it again today. I don’t know why You don’t lose patience with me, because I’m disobedient so often. But, God, I don’t know what the future holds, and I’m afraid. Debbie will be leaving in a few months to live in another state, and I’ll be rattling around this old house alone. I have so much to be thankful for, so please forgive me for feeling sorry for myself. Since Jason’s parents left the property to me to maintain for Debbie, I feel obligated to stay here. I do love this old place. But sometimes it seems like an albatross around my neck.
As Debbie’s wedding date loomed closer, Laurel often experienced her rising fear of being alone. Her daughter had been her whole life for twenty-two years. She didn’t want Debbie to suspect her feelings because it would make her sad. But she was determined that Debbie wouldn’t realize what a void she was leaving. She would have to develop a new life. She needed to find a job to pay for the renovations, although she knew it would be difficult to venture out on her own after living a sheltered life.
After her husband, Jason, had disappeared in a boating accident, Laurel had dated a few times, but his parents were so opposed to it that she’d given up male companionship rather than live with conflict. Since Jason’s body had never been recovered, his parents wouldn’t admit that he was really dead, but Laurel had never doubted his death. Jason had been an irresponsible husband, but Laurel didn’t believe that he would have deliberately abandoned his family for twenty years. She had never considered remarrying when Debbie was growing up, but now that her daughter was leaving home, perhaps it was time for her to find a companion, someone to date and possibly marry down the line.
Gently, Laurel rocked back and forth, considering her options for a new lifestyle. Micah Davidson walked around the corner of the house with a check in his hand. He came briskly up the steps.
“Good evening, Mrs. Cooper. I’m pleased with the apartment. Here’s a month’s rent.”
Since the man didn’t seem to resent her crabby behavior, his presence didn’t embarrass Laurel now. She wondered momentarily how old he was. He must be in his late forties, for deep, calipered lines had formed around his generous mouth and streaks of gray frosted his dark hair.
“Won’t you sit down?” she invited. “There’s going to be a brilliant sunset soon.”
Micah took the rocking chair she indicated. “This is a peaceful place. Since you live a mile from the highway, you aren’t bothered with the sounds of traffic.”
“Sometimes it’s too peaceful, but I’ve lived here over half of my life, and I’ve gotten used to it. I came to Oaklawn as an eighteen-year-old bride, and I haven’t been out of Tennessee since my honeymoon.”
These weren’t pleasant memories, so she said, “Since you’re a photojournalist, you must travel a lot and have an interesting life. Tell me about some of your experiences.”
“I’ve spent the past year in the Amazon rain forest with a group of scientists.” He grinned in her direction. “That’s the reason today’s deluge in the backyard didn’t bother me. My clothes have been wet most of the time in recent months.”
“Mr. Davidson, please,” Laurel said, and she feared her face had turned as red as her hair. “I’d like to forget that.”
“Sorry,” he said contritely, though his face still gleamed with unspoken laughter. “I’ve written several articles about my experiences in the jungle, and the first one will be published in a few weeks. I’m a freelance journalist, so I pick and choose what I want to do. I’ve worked on most of the continents, and, yes, I have had an interesting life. But I’ll reach the half-century mark on the last day of June. I can’t keep up this pace forever, so it’s probably time to establish some roots.”
“Don’t you have any family?”
“I’ve never been married, but I have four siblings scattered here and there around the United States. Due to the nature of my work, I don’t keep in touch with them, except for an occasional postcard.”
“After living such an exciting life for so many years, do you believe you can actually change and be happy with anything else?” She asked this because she was troubled about how to deal with the changes coming soon in her own life.
Micah stood, leaned his tall frame against a column, and looking down at Laurel, he said, “It’s possible that I will be bored with any other life.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I really don’t know. That’s one reason I took this assignment. It’s leisurely compared to my usual lifestyle, so it’s a good test to determine if I like a slower pace.”
“It’s usually quiet at Oaklawn, but with Debbie’s wedding in August, we’ll have more excitement than we normally have.” She stood, too. “Would you like to look over the house now?”
“That would be great. I’m studying the architecture as well as the history of the homes, and a preliminary viewing would be helpful.”
Chapter Two
They entered the central hall, which boasted a magnificent staircase and a crystal chandelier that had been imported from France in 1835. Laurel explained that this would be the site of Debbie’s wedding.
“We can’t seat many people in here,” she explained, “but since I stood on this stairway during my wedding, just as my mother-in-law did when she was married, Debbie wants to continue the tradition. We’ll have only family members for the wedding itself, and then all of our friends and neighbors are invited for the outdoor reception.”
The house had four huge rooms on each floor with great fireplaces in each room, set off by carved walnut mantels and varnished paneling. That the Coopers had once been wealthy was evident in the priceless antiques and beautiful oil paintings in each room.
When Micah commented on the wealth of her furnishings, Laurel shrugged her shoulders. “There would be wealth if I sold them, but I want to keep the house as it is for Debbie and her children. This house was one of the few in the area not raided during the Civil War. Most of these furnishings have been here for a long time. Legend has it that the Coopers buried their money and that it was never found. But my father-in-law said his ancestors gave most of their wealth to the war effort. None of the Coopers I know have been prosperous.”
In the parlor, Laurel pointed out the Steinway grand piano. “This piano belonged to Debbie’s great-grandmother.” Laurel ran her fingers over the keys, testing the tone.
“Debbie’s father played, and he filled the house with music when he was at home. It’s hardly been touched since his death. But Debbie wants her wedding music played on this piano, so I had it tuned.”
The house was situated on a small hill, and a spreading lawn with large, gnarled trees and spacious gardens added to the mansion’s magnificence. Micah’s camera finger was already itching to photograph the place.
Micah thanked Laurel for the tour and returned to his apartment. The rooms were cool now. He turned off the air conditioner and raised the window facing the large stream, flowing southward at the foot of the hill. He inhaled the fragrance of the landscape flowers and settled down with his laptop to map out an itinerary for his Tennessee research.
Micah kept thinking of the delicate bone structure of Laurel’s oval face that ended in a determined chin, and he couldn’t concentrate on his work. Laurel had experienced a rough life bringing up her child as a single parent, but she’d apparently developed a strong character, while fulfilling her role as a mother. He remembered how her emerald eyes easily flared with anger as bright as a flash of lightning, only to fade just as quickly to the softness of a peaceful ocean. Her auburn hair was cut close to her head like a cap. Since she’d been dressed in jeans, he was well aware of her slim waist above shapely hips, and—
“Whoa!” Micah said aloud.
He shook his head, wondering at his thoughts. It had been a long time since he’d given any thought to a woman. There was no time for romance in his busy schedule, so what had prompted this sudden surge of interest in Laurel Cooper? He decided he was just as well off not to know the answer to that one, and he shifted his thoughts to the computer screen.
By the time they’d finished their tour of the house, Laurel had been completely at ease with Micah, and now she could smile at the way she’d mistaken him for a carpenter. She thought about his interesting life—how much he’d seen of the world compared to her meager travels.
She had eventually become resigned to her restricted life. Since Debbie was all they had left of their son, the Coopers were determined that their granddaughter would be raised in their home. When Laurel had mentioned going to work, or moving into a home of her own, they’d raised such a fuss that it was easier to submit to their demands rather than fight them.
She’d tried to stifle her temper when dealing with them, because they’d aged considerably after Jason was lost at sea. They’d been good to her in many ways, but she hadn’t had a life of her own. She’d received some income from a small trust fund left by her grandmother, but she was dependent on them for food and housing. And she could never have given Debbie a good education without their help.
She was surprised when they’d left everything to her, although her father-in-law had asked her in his will to keep Oaklawn for Debbie’s inheritance, actually controlling her life after his death. Mrs. Cooper had lived only two months after her husband, and by the time Laurel had paid their funeral expenses, there wasn’t much money left.
Acting on the advice of her attorney, Kevin Cooper, Laurel had used most of that money to redo the wing into apartments. Kevin, a first cousin of Jason’s, had advised that the apartments would provide a steady income for her. The apartments had supplied an income, but by the time she paid the utilities and the taxes, she’d hardly broken even on the apartments. Laurel still had the upkeep of a large house, a limited income and no job experience. She was annoyed that Kevin had given her such poor advice, but she hadn’t complained to him. He’d been helpful in settling her father-in-law’s estate, and he’d assured her that she could call on him for further help when needed.
Although she’d been concerned about having Debbie leave home, Laurel wondered if it wouldn’t be nice to be completely independent for a change. At forty-two she could still get an education and have a career. She had been dreading the summer, but she anticipated it now. She intended to enjoy her daughter’s company while they planned the wedding. And since just one evening in Micah’s company had uplifted her spirits, she looked forward to seeing him often during the next few weeks.
It was amazing how quickly she’d been drawn to Micah. She hadn’t dated much before she’d met and married Jason, and since his death she hadn’t been interested enough in any man to contemplate a serious relationship with him. But Micah’s quiet ways, his dry humor and his gentleness had captivated her from the first.
Laurel was still downstairs when she noticed the lights go off in Micah’s apartment. The clock on the stairway chimed ten, and Laurel knew it wouldn’t be long until Debbie came home. She turned off all of the downstairs lights except the ones on the back porch and in the entry hall and went upstairs. She always stayed awake until she knew Debbie was safe at home, but Laurel had avoided being a controlling mother who monitored her daughter’s comings and goings. If Debbie wanted to talk to her about what she’d done when she was out for an evening, Laurel let her take the initiative.
After her in-laws died, Laurel had moved into their room because it commanded a good view of the river valley. She had kept the cherry bed, dresser and chest that had been handed down for several generations. But to give the room a hint of her own personality, she’d had a green carpet laid and dressed the high, narrow windows in ruffled curtains that matched the rug’s color. As a final touch, she’d replaced the dark painted walls with a colorful, floral wallpaper.
Laurel had changed into a mint-green cotton nightgown by the time she heard Debbie’s light gait, taking the steps, two at a time. The door cracked slightly and Debbie whispered, “Asleep, Mom?”
“No, come in. I’m about ready for bed.”
“We had a fun time at the pastor’s house, but I almost went to sleep two or three times. It was a long flight from Colorado today.” Debbie smothered a yawn and drifted over to kiss Laurel’s cheek. “Night, Mom.”
“We should go into Knoxville and pick up your wedding invitations tomorrow,” Laurel said, “but we won’t have to leave early. Sleep late if you want to.”
Yawning again, Debbie waved lazily, indicating she’d understood and wandered out of the room and down the hall.
Laurel sat in the wicker rocker she’d brought from her grandmother’s home and reached for the Bible on the small table beside the bed. For the past year, Laurel had memorized a different Scripture verse each week and used it for her special meditation. Without opening the Bible, she tried to remember this week’s verse from the book of Proverbs. A cheerful heart is good medicine.
Despite her difficult life, Laurel had, for the most part, remained cheerful. She and Jason had enjoyed a happy marriage for eighteen months until Debbie was born. But Jason had wanted Laurel’s full attention, and he resented Debbie’s claims on her. Although Debbie had toddled after him all the time, he hadn’t had time for her. He worked on construction jobs that took him away for months at a time. He kept in touch with his family with occasional phone calls and infrequent checks to Laurel. Jason’s parents had spoiled him as a child, and he hadn’t grown up to be a responsible adult. While he was working in Texas, he’d met Ryan Bledsoe, and for a year prior to his death, Jason had bummed around the country with his friend.
During those difficult days, and the time after Jason’s death, Laurel had relied on her faith in God to survive. He hadn’t failed her. She’d prayed for the wisdom and strength to be a good mother, and God had answered her prayer. He’d given her the strength to keep her in-laws from spoiling their granddaughter as they had their son.
Debbie had never caused her any trouble. In high school, she’d made good grades, played in the band and participated in summer sports. Despite the sorrow that Laurel personally felt, she had kept her sadness from Debbie. And because of her upbeat attitude, Laurel had kept her head above water when circumstances tended to overwhelm her.
Laurel opened the double windows facing the bend in the river. The cost of air-conditioning this huge house was prohibitive, so during the summer, they stored cool air at nighttime and kept the windows and doors closed all day. The thick brick walls retained the cool air that drifted inside at night.
Before she turned off the light, Laurel walked across the hall and into the dark room she’d once shared with Jason. She pulled back the heavy draperies and opened the window, providing a full view of the addition where the apartments were located.
She wondered if Micah found it difficult to sleep in strange surroundings. Probably not, since he’d traveled so much. What would it be like to travel as extensively as he had? Her honeymoon to Atlanta was the farthest she’d been away from Oaklawn. Dereck’s mother had invited her to come visit them, but with her renovation debts, Laurel was short of funds. She’d have to be conservative until she took a job and paid off that loan. Perhaps then she could go to visit Debbie and Dereck in Colorado.
Laurel hummed a hymn as she darkened her room and turned on a dim light beside her bed. She stretched, savoring the texture of the smooth sheets under her back. She crossed her hands behind her neck and listened to the cacophony of insect sounds outside the window. She also heard a cow bawling on her neighbor’s farm—probably trying to find its calf. The owl, nesting in the attic of Oaklawn’s garden house, serenaded its nesting mate. Last night the plaintive call of the owl had made her sad, but tonight she enjoyed it.
Micah’s coming had lifted her spirits. The rent he paid this summer would help with her finances, but she wasn’t sure that was the only reason she was pleased with her new tenant. She fell asleep thinking about him.
The ringing phone woke Laurel, and at first she thought it was the alarm clock, which she’d set for seven. A glance at the clock indicated it was after midnight. Her heart thumped rapidly, and her stomach churned with anxiety and apprehension. Following her in-laws’ custom, Laurel had developed the habit of going to bed early. Her friends knew she didn’t keep late hours, so who could be calling? She sat up and quickly lifted the receiver, hoping the phone hadn’t wakened Debbie. Maybe there was an emergency among the church family.
She swallowed with difficulty and hesitantly answered. “Hello?”
Her apprehension increased when no one answered her greeting. She knew someone was on the line because she heard uneven breathing. She almost dropped the phone when a pleasant, tenor voice started singing the words of an old song.
“I looked over Jordan, and what did I see
Coming for to carry me home?
A band of angels coming after me,
Coming for to carry me home.”
After a significant pause, the man said, “Be ready, Laurel, we’re coming after you.”
Laurel dropped the phone receiver on the floor, and reached out a trembling finger to sever the connection. She childishly pinched her arm to be sure she wasn’t dreaming.
She ran to the bathroom, sick to her stomach, and retched. Laurel rinsed her mouth, gulped a glass of water and staggered back to bed.
She was sorry now that she hadn’t stayed on the phone. She replaced the phone in its cradle and lay awake the rest of the night. Was there any way she could trace the call?
After she’d squirmed in the bed for several hours, Laurel got up, dressed in an ankle-length floral skirt and a soft, white cotton blouse, and quietly went downstairs. Because of the isolation of the house, she had two dusk-to-dawn security lights, which kept the grounds and the house partially illuminated all night long. Creeping along in the muted light, Laurel entered the kitchen and closed the door so she wouldn’t wake Debbie. She filled the teakettle with water and, while she waited for it to boil, placed a tea bag in her favorite mug.
Once made, Laurel wrapped her hands around the steaming cup and went to the screened back porch, where she’d encountered Micah yesterday. The front gallery contained only antique rocking chairs, but after she’d taken over ownership of the house, Laurel had made the back porch into a cozy, relaxing area.
Laurel sat on a padded lounge chair and sipped the tea as she contemplated what to do. If she’d had caller ID, she might have determined the identity of her caller, but with her limited income, she cut corners when she could, and the latest technology wasn’t high on her priority list.
When daylight dispelled the darkness, Laurel became aware of movement at her side. Remembering the threatening phone call, the cup tottered in her hand. Micah Davidson walked across the lawn. He halted when he saw her, and momentarily she wondered if he’d been the caller.
“Good morning,” he said. “You’re up early.”
“Earlier than usual,” she answered. “Couldn’t you sleep?”
“I don’t usually sleep more than six hours, and I went to bed early. I had breakfast while I waited for enough daylight to look around. You don’t mind if I explore your property, do you?”
“Of course not. There’s a cleared path to the river if you want to go that way.”
“That’s where I was heading. Would you have time to walk with me? I could use a guide.”
“Yes, I’d like a walk,” she said eagerly. She wasn’t in the mood for conversation, but it might be a good idea to learn more about Micah Davidson. She swung her feet off the lounge, kicked off the soft scuffs she wore and reached under the chair for a pair of walking shoes. She quickly pulled on the socks she’d stored in the toes of the shoes, and in a few minutes had joined Micah.
Pointing to the left, Laurel said, “The best path is through the orchard.”
The lawn was neatly mowed until they reached the orchard, then weeds grew profusely in the path. Laurel’s long skirt was soon wet from the abundant dew on the grass.
“In your research of Southern homes, you’ve probably heard many stories about keepsakes the Confederates buried before the invaders came. I mentioned Oaklawn’s story to you last night. Supposedly a Cooper ancestor buried gold and silver in this orchard, but the cache was never found.”
“Not even after the war?”
“No,” Laurel said, and her eyes sparkled, temporarily replacing the pain Micah had noticed. “My father-in-law said that when he was a boy, he and his brother dug from one end of that field to the other and didn’t find any money. But the cultivation did give them a bumper crop of fruit for a few years.”
Micah gazed appreciatively at the grainfields and the lush pastureland along the river.
“Oaklawn isn’t as large as it was in the eighteenth century,” Laurel continued as they walked. “At one time, the Coopers owned a thousand acres, but they’ve had to sell parcels of land during hard times. The farm is only fifty acres now. Actually, I’m glad it’s no more than that, because I can’t even manage that much land. My neighbor, Pete Howe, rents the farmland, so I only care for the few acres around the house. I have a riding mower, so it isn’t difficult work, but it does keep me busy during the summer. Especially this year, when I want everything to look nice for the wedding.”
Although she’d hoped walking would take her mind off the mysterious phone call, it didn’t, and she lapsed into silence, trying to figure out who had called her. The singer’s voice didn’t sound familiar at all.
Micah walked slightly behind Laurel since the path was narrow, but he was aware of her downcast eyes. When she’d joined him for the walk, he’d noticed at once that she wasn’t the contented woman he’d talked with on the gallery the night before. Had something happened to disturb her, or did it take a while for her to get going in the morning?
“I’d appreciate hearing anything you know about Oaklawn,” Micah said. “I want to feature the history of the homes, as well as the architecture.”
Laurel wasn’t in the mood for visiting, but taking a deep breath and staring straight ahead as they walked, she said, “The Coopers moved here soon after the Revolutionary War. The place was a wilderness then. They lived in log cabins and had the usual troubles with the Native Americans that most settlers had. Eventually they prospered enough for Debbie’s great-great-grandfather to build the original brick house, but the Cooper wealth declined over the next century.”
When they passed a knoll where the family cemetery was located, Micah commented, “I suppose your husband is buried here.”
“No, he isn’t,” she said bluntly, because she didn’t like to think about Jason’s death.
Micah couldn’t imagine why his question had annoyed her. They were both silent as they walked downhill to the northern bank of the shallow river. A wide beach of sand and gravel had formed at a sharp bend in the stream. Overhanging trees provided a secluded area. A few ramshackle lawn chairs and a wooden bench had been placed several feet from the water. Laurel walked to one of the sturdier chairs and sat down.
“Do people go swimming or fishing here?”
“Mostly fishing,” Laurel said shortly, her eyes on the river.
Did his presence annoy her, or was she troubled about something else?
After a pause, she continued, “But there is a deep pool midway in the stream. The local boys go to the other side of the river, swing on the vines and drop into the pool. It’s a dangerous practice. One boy was seriously hurt here last summer, but they continue to swim.”
The gentle ripple of the water as it slid past them was quieting, and the peace of the place was soothing to Micah. After spending over a year in the jungle, the past three months in the States—mostly in cities—had frustrated him. The noise of traffic had grated on his nerves. Pleased to have this sojourn in a quiet place, Micah sat on the wooden bench facing upstream. In this position, he could watch Laurel without being obvious about it.
Her present attitude didn’t compare to her quick flash of anger yesterday, which had disappeared as quickly as it had come. Her eyes brooded today, and there was a petulant droop to her full lips.
Early sunlight peeked into the shaded glade, a fish flipped in the middle of the stream and birds gently began their morning songs.
Without looking at him, her eyes staring across the river, Laurel said, “Mr. Davidson, I should apologize to you again. I had an unpleasant experience last night, or I wouldn’t have been so short-tempered. Let me give you a reasonable answer to your question about my husband’s burial. It’s always been a sore subject to me, but you wouldn’t have known that.”
Chapter Three
Several minutes passed before Laurel continued, and to spare her embarrassment, Micah kept his eyes on the river. A small flock of ducks drifted lazily with the current. Occasionally, one of them would tilt forward into the river for a morning snack.
“Twenty years ago, Jason and a friend were sailing off the Atlantic coast of South America, and their boat capsized,” Laurel said quietly. “Their bodies were never recovered. He was an only child, and his parents never got over his death.”
He noticed that she didn’t mention her own sorrow. If she’d been a widow for so long, perhaps the pain was gone. But why hadn’t she remarried? Judging by his own immediate attraction to her, she must have had plenty of suitors.
As though she read his thoughts, Laurel said, “Debbie, who was only two at the time, was all his parents had left of Jason. As I mentioned last night, they insisted that I stay at Oaklawn and raise my child here. I was glad to stay, because I didn’t have any other place to go.”
Many questions rose in Micah’s mind. Why was her husband’s death a sore point? She spoke as if she resented him, but it wasn’t any of his business. Laurel would tell him what she wanted him to know.
“Although it’s been a labor of love to rear Debbie as a single parent, it hasn’t been easy for me. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’ve always resented Jason taking that trip and getting killed when he should have stayed home and looked after his family. Debbie has missed a lot by not having a father.”
Micah silently thought that Debbie might have been better off without her father’s presence. Jason Cooper sounded like a selfish man.
“His parents hoped almost to the end that Jason was still alive. When they at last conceded that he was dead, they didn’t live long. My mother-in-law survived her husband by two months. They wanted me to preserve the house for Debbie. I’m trying to do what they asked me to.”
“It hasn’t been easy for you, I’m sure.”
She nodded sadly. “Besides the work, it’s a financial burden. As soon as Debbie is married, I intend to find a job, even though I have no marketable work skills. She’ll be moving to Colorado, so I’ll have lots of time on my hands. I’ve been looking into possible employment, but I don’t have many job skills. I’m considering taking a two-year business course at the college. But these decisions are on hold until Debbie is married.”
She stood up quickly. “And speaking of Debbie, we’re going into Knoxville this morning, so I have to go back to the house.”
“I have an appointment to look over a home in Nashville today, so I want to get started, too.”
They didn’t talk as they returned to the house, but Micah hummed in a monotone that grated on Laurel’s already distraught nerves. She tried to determine the tune, but if he had any particular song in mind, it was one she didn’t know.
“Thanks for walking with me. I like to be outdoors early in the morning,” he said, giving her a sideways glance.
“So do I. Take care while you’re traveling today,” she answered, and he favored her with a wide smile.
“Mom, what is wrong with you?” Debbie asked in the midst of a disastrous breakfast. Laurel had burned the grits, upended a cup of coffee on the tablecloth and, instead of providing jelly for their toast, picked up a jar of mustard and slid it across the table. “I’ve never seen you so jumpy. Are you sick?”
Sitting down and gripping her hands in her lap underneath the table, Laurel tried to calm her inner trembling.
“I didn’t sleep much last night,” she said, unable to stifle the tremor in her voice. “I’ll be all right as soon as I’ve had a cup of coffee.”
To prove her point, Laurel poured another cup. Coffee sloshed over the brim and into the saucer as she lifted the cup. Debbie cast another startled glance toward her.
“Go back to bed, and forget the trip to Knoxville,” Debbie said, concern in her voice. “We can pick up the invitations tomorrow.”
“Oh, no,” Laurel said, and forced a smile. “I want to go today.” She had to do something to keep her mind off of her nighttime caller.
Sensing Debbie’s gaze upon her again, Laurel knew she was staring fixedly out the window. Determined to retain some sense of normalcy, she spread butter over the grits on her plate and ate them and the egg in front of her as if she had a good appetite.
“If you want to fill the dishwasher, I’ll go upstairs and get ready.”
“I’ll take care of everything, but I still think we should postpone our trip,” Debbie insisted.
Laurel forced a laugh. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been tired when I’ve gotten out of bed. Let’s plan to leave in an hour.”
While she luxuriated in the big bathtub and lathered vigorously with her lavender-scented bath gel, Laurel thought about Micah Davidson. Although she’d fleetingly wondered if Micah could have been the midnight caller, after she’d heard him humming this morning, she’d discounted that idea. Micah had a bass voice, and he couldn’t carry a tune. The man on the phone had a melodious tenor voice. Thinking about Micah lifted Laurel’s spirits, and she decided she wouldn’t allow last night’s incident to ruin her day with Debbie.
Stepping from the tub, Laurel patted her body dry with a large towel. She applied body lotion, and for a moment her worries receded as the lotion soothed her body. Laurel habitually denied herself for others, but she did indulge herself with a fragrant bath.
After dressing in a pair of striped capris and a white knit blouse, she sat in her grandmother’s rocking chair for her morning devotions. She felt close to her grandmother in this chair, since she was the one who had guided Laurel’s spiritual maturation. She turned to her grandmother’s favorite Scripture in the book of Philippians and read softly.
“‘I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through Him who gives me strength.’”
Her grandmother hadn’t had an easy life, but she’d never doubted that God had sustained her through each problem. Laurel, too, had experienced enough sorrow since her marriage to make her bitter, but she’d kept a degree of contentment, in spite of the circumstances.
Fortified by the words she’d read, Laurel left her room with less trepidation than she’d had since that mysterious phone call. As soon as she and Debbie drove away from Oaklawn, Laurel pushed the call to the back of her mind. They had a pleasant day as they picked up the wedding invitations, registered for more of Debbie’s gift preferences at two stores and enjoyed a lunch in their favorite Chinese restaurant.
For the next two nights, knowing that she was taking the coward’s way out, Laurel disconnected the phone when she went to bed. Although her body tensed each time she heard the phone during the day, she had no mysterious messages. Occasionally, she wondered if the call had been a dream.
Debbie worked on the evening shift at a fast-food restaurant in Knoxville. For the first three days after he’d moved into the apartment, Micah also left early and didn’t return until late, so Laurel was alone most of the time. On Saturday evening, as Laurel sat on the gallery, she heard a car approaching. When she saw that it was Micah, she waved to him. In a short time, she heard his steps on the graveled pathway.
“Good evening, Mrs. Cooper,” he said.
“You might as well call me Laurel. We’re not very formal in this neighborhood.”
“I’m not formal at all,” he said, “So good evening, Laurel.”
A dimple at the corner of her mouth deepened. “Hello, Micah. You’re home early.”
“Yes. I’ve had a busy week, so I’m ready for some rest.”
“Come and sit down,” she invited. “This is a good place to relax. It’s been a hectic week for me, too, and I had to take time to let my body catch up with my soul. I’m preparing myself for worship tomorrow. Will you go to church with us in the morning?”
Settling down in the rocking chair beside her and stretching out his long legs, Micah said, “I haven’t been to church for so long, I wouldn’t know how to act.”
With a smile, Laurel said, “I doubt things have changed much since you used to go to church. We have a small sanctuary and a simple order of worship. You wouldn’t have a problem.”
“Fact is,” Micah said, “I’m not much interested in organized churches anymore. I’ve spent my adult life traveling, mostly in isolated places, where there aren’t any church buildings. I worship the God of Creation. I can have ‘church’ anywhere.”
Disturbed by his comments, Laurel said, “I’m sure that’s true, but don’t you miss the fellowship of other Christians? I need the strength and support I receive on Sunday to deal with any problems I might have during the week.”
Micah seemed to deliberate a few moments before he answered. “In my line of work, sometimes months pass without the opportunity to worship with a congregation. But when I see God’s handiwork in what He’s created—the skies, the trees, the animals—it’s easy for me to worship.”
Laurel wasn’t normally argumentative about the Scriptures, but she had the feeling that Micah was missing the most important principle. “That’s all well and good,” she said, “as long as you acknowledge the place of Jesus, God’s Son, in the creation of the world.”
Micah looked puzzled, and he said, “I remember something about that from my childhood when I went to Sunday School.”
Laurel didn’t press her opinion at that time. She, too, could see God in the universe around her. And she believed it was only a short distance from acknowledging God, Who created the world, and believing that His Son, Jesus, was the Savior of mankind. She doubted that Micah had made that connection.
“Then you will go to church with Debbie and me tomorrow?”
“Yes, thank you. I’m looking forward to meeting your daughter. With my long hours, I’ve missed my chances so far.”
Laurel said proudly, “I know I’m prejudiced, but she is a fine girl.”
Micah thought if Debbie was anything like her mother, she would be worth meeting.
Hesitantly, Laurel continued, “If we’re asking something that you don’t want to do, please say so. But Debbie wants to know if you’ll consider photographing her wedding on August twenty-fifth. Will you still be in Tennessee then?”
“I’m not sure, but if I agree to photograph the wedding, I’ll come back for it. But you should know that, although I’ve photographed a few weddings, I’m not at my best when photographing people. I prefer landscapes or anything in the natural environment.”
“Let me show you what we have in mind before you make a commitment.”
A gentle breeze blew from the river as they walked into the wide expanse of yard to the left of the house. The breeze ruffled Laurel’s red curls, and as she pointed out various things, Micah observed her, wondering that her red hair hadn’t a trace of gray. Modern hair colors could work wonders, but he doubted there was a rinse on her hair.
“We’ve chosen the southern lawn for the reception,” she explained. “We’re planning an early afternoon wedding, and the house will shade most of this area. The lawn is rather spacious, as you can see. We’re expecting about a hundred guests, but it’s an open wedding list, so it’s difficult to know how many we’ll have. We’ve rented tents and tables. If we have an overflow, some of them can sit under the shade trees. The ladies of our church are cooking the dinner.”
Micah sauntered around the area, looking at it with his professional eye, considering the shading and judging the position of the sun in three months.
“What time is the ceremony?” he asked.
“The music will start at one o’clock, and the processional a half hour later.”
“Then, I’d say this is an ideal spot. The light should be good for photographs.”
“The formal pictures will be taken inside. We want candid shots of activities here on the lawn. Dereck’s father plans to make a video, but we want some professional pictures for albums.”
“Are they having many attendants?”
“Just one each, plus a flower girl and a ring bearer— Dereck’s niece and nephew.” She halted, and looked out over the river. “Without any close male relatives, I’ll have to give her away.”
Her voice faltered a little, and Micah quickly glanced her way. “Pretty difficult to do, huh?” he said sympathetically.
“Yes, especially since they’re moving to Colorado. The groom is an engineer, and he has a job there. Besides, Colorado is his home state.”
“And you’ll be all alone.”
Laurel turned away and started walking toward the house.
“I’m sorry, Laurel. I shouldn’t have said that. Not being a parent, I can’t quite understand your fears.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I will miss her, but I’ve tried not to tie her to my apron strings. I’ve learned to love Oaklawn, but in a way, it’s been a prison to me. I’m trying to preserve the place for Debbie, never knowing if she’ll ever want to live here. Her future husband travels a lot with his job, but I don’t want her to feel tied to Oaklawn. I’m anticipating Debbie’s wedding as a turning point in my life, too.”
He followed her up the steps to the gallery.
“I’ll be happy to photograph the wedding.”
“Thank you so much,” Laurel said. “Debbie will be very pleased.”
Laurel felt a welcome surge of excitement. She was assured of Micah’s presence the rest of the summer, and she could have shouted for joy. Trying to control her exuberance, she said, “We’ll start for church at ten-thirty.”
Micah said good-night and sauntered toward his apartment. But he turned back, and at his quiet approach, he saw that Laurel sat with her head in her hands. He scuffled his feet, and when he reached the steps of the gallery, she was sitting erect, her eyes suspiciously moist.
“Will you and Debbie go with me for lunch after church?”
“That’s nice of you,” she said. “I don’t know Debbie’s work schedule for Sunday, but she tries not to work on Sunday morning. Thanks for asking us.”
“Since I’m new in the area, I’ll leave it up to you to choose a restaurant.”
Laurel nodded, but the despair in her eyes saddened him. She was disturbed about something, and he didn’t think it was Debbie’s leaving. Micah wanted to help, but he couldn’t intrude into a place Laurel didn’t want him to go.
Chapter Four
Micah would never have dreamed that Sunday morning would find him searching the closet to find something suitable to wear to church. Why had he accepted Laurel’s invitation to go with her today, when he hadn’t attended an organized worship service for years?
He hadn’t thought he’d need dress clothes for the summer, and most of his garments consisted of denim pants and shorts. His suits and ties were at his house in Kansas. He sorted through his garment bags and came up with a new polo shirt and a pair of trousers, both in need of pressing. Laurel had provided an ironing board and iron for her renters, and while he waited for the iron to heat, Micah shined his shoes.
He hoped his casual clothes would be acceptable at Laurel’s church. Not that he ever gave much thought to what people thought, but he didn’t want Laurel to be ashamed of his appearance. Confused by his preoccupation with Laurel and her affairs, he wandered restlessly around the apartment.
He couldn’t understand her obvious attachment to Oaklawn. He’d been on the move all of his adult life, and the only land he owned was a quarter-section of farmland in Kansas. He’d inherited the property from a maternal uncle a few years ago, and he used the farm to store the possessions he couldn’t haul around with him.
He rented the land to a farmer whose farm adjoined his, and the farmer’s wife cleaned and aired his four-room house monthly. The farm was valuable to him as a good source of income, but he visited the place infrequently. Obviously, Laurel wasn’t making much money from Oaklawn, so her attachment to the place must be sentimental.
As Micah paced, he wondered why he couldn’t put down roots like other people. Was he destined to be a wanderer to the end of his days? He didn’t want to settle down in Kansas, which was hot and dry in summer and cold and windy in the winter. Micah felt as strong and competent as he had when he was a teenager. He had several years before he needed to retire, so why was he thinking of settling down? Not willing to acknowledge the reason for his discontent, he decided to put these perplexing emotions out of his mind.
When he finished dressing and took a look in the full-length mirror on the closet door, Micah decided he looked acceptable. Laurel had said the church was small, and it was a hot morning, so he assumed none of the men would be wearing suits.
After he cleared the seats of the car and put all of his photographic equipment in the apartment, he tapped on Laurel’s back door. A lovely sight in her Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, Laurel opened the door and greeted him. He thought she looked like a child playacting in her mother’s clothes. With her diminutive stature, delicate body, and a shy smile hovering on her lips, she seemed like a little girl dressed up for her first party. She wore an ankle-length black skirt and black sandals. The scoop-necked blouse was an ivory color that blended charmingly with her pearl-like complexion.
When Laurel’s lashes dropped, and a telltale flush appeared on her cheeks, Micah realized he’d been staring.
“Good morning, Laurel,” he said. “Am I too early?”
“Not at all,” she stammered, still flustered by Micah’s intent appraisal. “Debbie is a little late. We both overslept this morning.”
She motioned to the chairs on the porch. “Shall we sit and wait for her? We still have half an hour before services begin, and it’s only a ten-minute drive to Bethel Church.”
But before they could be seated, quick steps sounded in the hallway, and Debbie stepped out on the porch. She was a pretty young woman of above average height, but she had few characteristics of her petite mother. Debbie’s hair was straight instead of curly. Her eyes were brown instead of green. Apparently Debbie looked like her father’s side of the family. Since Debbie was dressed in casual slacks and a knit blouse, Micah decided that his attire was suitable for their church.
“Have I kept you waiting long?” she asked.
“Debbie,” Laurel said, “this is Micah Davidson.” And looking at her daughter with unmistakable pride, she added, “Micah, my daughter, Debbie.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Davidson,” Debbie said with genuine warmth. “I’ve seen your work featured on TV several times. You’re a fantastic photographer.”
“Thanks. I enjoy my work.”
“Have you ever considered writing a book about your exploits?”
“I’m having one published in a few months,” he said, with a wide smile.
Out of the corner of his eye, Micah noticed that Laurel was fidgeting from one foot to the other.
“Should we go now?” he asked.
“Yes,” Laurel said. “I don’t want to be late. You sit in the front seat, Debbie, you’re better at giving directions than I am.”
They passed Walden College on the way to worship, and Micah wondered why he was hesitant to tell Laurel he’d been invited to teach there.
The sedate brick buildings, dating to the early twentieth century, looked quiet and confining. After he’d been his own taskmaster for twenty-five years, could he endure working on a regular, day-by-day schedule arranged by someone else? Was he too set in his ways to ever change?
He turned his thoughts from the college to another unaccustomed experience when Debbie, who sat beside him on the front seat, directed him to the parking lot of Bethel Church. According to the sign over the door, the church had been built in 1910. When Micah followed Debbie and Laurel up the center aisle into the small sanctuary, he admired the Gothic-style architecture of the windows and the ceiling, as well as the ornately carved pews. They sat beside a stained-glass window placed in memory of the Cooper family.
The soft strains of the organ music were peaceful, but Micah momentarily longed for the soft stirring of the wind and the sounds of nature that he usually heard when he worshiped. Sitting between Debbie and Laurel, he felt confined like a bird with its wings clipped, as if his spirit could never soar again.
He probably would have bolted if he’d had free access to the door, but when an usher raised all the windows in the sanctuary, he could hear birds singing. A gentle breeze wafted the strong scent of honeysuckle into the church. He breathed deeply of the fresh air and relaxed.
Micah took a quick survey of the congregation, seeing only one man, other than the minister, who had on a suit and tie.
Laurel handed Micah a hymnal when the preacher announced the first song. It was a song he didn’t know, but he followed the words on the page as he listened to Debbie’s strong soprano blending with Laurel’s alto voice. Micah had been told by a high-school music teacher that he had a pleasant speaking voice, but when he sang, he croaked like a frog. Thereafter, he’d never joined in group singing, but when he was out on a job alone, he’d belt out the words of any song that took his fancy, with or without a tune. A croaking frog was acceptable in the great outdoors.
When the pastor asked for unspoken requests before the morning prayer, Laurel lifted her hand. The haunted expression Micah had seen in her eyes when they’d walked yesterday morning had returned. And during the prayer, he sensed her lips were moving in silent petition.
Micah had a Bible somewhere among his possessions, but he hadn’t carried it on his travels, and he hadn’t read it for a long time. His parents had instilled a belief in God in his heart, but even as a child he’d avoided group worship. Everything he photographed, especially the different species of animals and plants he’d seen in various parts of the world, had filled him with wonder and awe at the majesty of the God Who had created the world.
Bruce Jensen, the preacher, was an unpretentious, thin, middle-aged man, but he was sincere and his obvious knowledge held Micah’s attention. He listened eagerly as Pastor Jensen started his sermon.
According to the preacher, Jesus and His disciples had been traveling through Samaria when they’d encountered a woman with a bad reputation. She had attempted to conceal her lifestyle by comparing the Jewish method of worship with the way the Samaritans worshiped.
Intrigued by this subject that was of importance to him, Micah listened intently when Pastor Jensen read a few verses from the Bible, giving the reference as the fourth chapter of John.
“A time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks. God is a spirit, and His worshipers must worship in spirit and in truth.”
According to these words, his method of worship was as valid as the way Laurel worshiped. But doubt arose in Micah’s heart as the preacher explained the passage more fully. In summing up the conversation between Jesus and the Samaritan Woman, Pastor Jensen said that Jesus turned the subject from the place where one worships to the Person who is worshiped. He explained that God is the Lord of all, and that He can be worshiped anywhere. But the only acceptable worship involves the entire heart, mind and the truth of God as revealed in the Scripture.
To that point, the preacher’s message and Micah’s method of worship seemed compatible. But when Pastor Jensen continued, Micah conceded that he may have missed the essence of true worship.
“When people asked Jesus to show them the way to God, He had replied, ‘I and the Father are one. He who has seen me has seen the Father.’ At a later time, Jesus had said, ‘No man cometh to the Father except by me.’”
Pastor Jensen concluded his message by quoting another Scripture, “‘He who does not honor the Son does not honor the Father who sent Him.’ Until people accept Jesus, the Son of God, into their hearts, there can be no worship.”
As the congregation rose for the benediction, Micah realized that if the preacher’s words were true, his methods of worship had not pleased God.
Micah had his hand wrung by most of the congregation at the end of the service, and he had many invitations to become a part of their fellowship while he was in the community. While Laurel and Debbie visited with their friends, he circled the building looking with interest at the architecture. If he accepted a position at Walden College, he might research historic churches of the South for an article or a TV feature. Bethel Church could be included.
“Where are we going for lunch?” he asked as he opened the car doors. Again, Laurel took the back seat, leaving the front for Debbie.
“You call it, Mom. Where do you want to go?”
“How about that nice Sunday buffet at the restaurant on the road to Knoxville? They have a good choice of food.”
“Give me directions, Debbie,” Micah said.
As he started the engine, she said, “Oh, wait. Here comes our cousin, Kevin. He must want to meet you.”
But the man approached the passenger side of the car. He opened the rear door and handed an envelope to Laurel.
“I was worried I’d miss you today. This letter came to my office last week. I’ve intended to drop by Oaklawn and give it to you, but I’ve been busy.”
Laurel took the envelope and glanced at the typed address. “Mrs. Jason Cooper, c/o Kevin Cooper, Attorney at Law.” She hadn’t had a letter addressed to Mrs. Jason Cooper for a long time. Her hands stiffened and her eyes blurred. Could this have anything to do with her mysterious phone call?
She was thankful for a moment to compose herself when Debbie said, “Cousin Kevin, did you meet our tenant? Kevin Cooper, Micah Davidson,” she said.
Kevin Cooper extended a hand across the front seat and gave Micah a hearty handshake. Kevin was the only man other than the minister who’d been wearing a suit. He was a tall, portly man with a mane of shoulder-length gray hair and a full gray beard. His appearance reminded Micah of an antebellum Southern planter.
“Going to stay long at Oaklawn?” Kevin said.
“Two or three months,” Micah answered.
“Everything going all right, Laurel?” Kevin asked affably.
“Yes, the wedding plans are moving along quite well,” she said with an effort.
“Glad to hear it,” her cousin-in-law said. “I’ll try to stop by this week. Glad to meet you, Mr. Davidson. It relieves my mind that you’ll be around Oaklawn this summer. When the apartments are empty, I worry about my cousins living in such an isolated place.”
Kevin closed the door and Micah drove out of the church parking lot.
“Cousin Kevin is a nice guy,” Debbie said. “He was my daddy’s second cousin, and he’s been very good to Mom and me after my grandparents died. If he’s worried about the two of us living alone at Oaklawn, I don’t know what he’ll think when Mom is there by herself.”
Laurel remained silent.
Following Debbie’s instructions, Micah left the narrow county road and accessed the highway. Micah had been prepared to dislike Debbie, because he’d gotten the impression that she imposed on her mother. Or at least he’d gathered that Laurel carried the whole burden of family decisions. After chatting with her about college life and her upcoming marriage, he decided she wasn’t a spoiled brat, but an intelligent, compassionate young lady.
Suddenly it occurred to Micah that Laurel hadn’t said a word since they’d left the churchyard, and he glanced quickly over his shoulder. Her eyes were closed, her face was the color of ashes, and her hand crushed the letter Kevin Cooper had given her.
“Hey, Mom,” Debbie said, not looking at her mother, but indicating a turn that Micah should take. “Who was your letter from?”
Micah heard Laurel open and close her purse. As he made the sharp left-hand turn, he had a slight glimpse of Laurel’s hands. The letter wasn’t in sight.
“Oh, just a piece of junk mail.”
“Seems strange anyone would send your mail to Cousin Kevin’s office.”
Laurel didn’t answer.
“Probably one of your admirers sneaking a letter to you so I wouldn’t see it,” Debbie teased.
If she had been disturbed by the letter’s contents, Laurel had regained her composure by the time they reached the restaurant. But her gaiety seemed forced, and occasionally her eyes held a resentful, frightened look. Debbie didn’t seem to notice, so Micah wondered if he was imagining things. Maybe the letter had been junk mail, but he didn’t think so.
Debbie was interested in Micah’s work, and she plied him with questions while they ate a leisurely meal. It was easy for Laurel to remain silent and mull over this latest threat to her peace of mind. Although as Micah answered Debbie’s queries, Laurel sensed his speculative gaze toward her.
“What’s the most interesting place you’ve ever photographed?” Debbie asked.
“That’s a hard one,” Micah said. “I’ve been at this work a long time. I’ve had assignments all over the world.”
“Do you speak several languages?” Laurel asked in an effort to keep Debbie from knowing how near the breaking point she was.
“French and Spanish reasonably well. I’ve picked up a smattering of German, as well as a lot of Asian dialects—at least enough that I can find my way around in several countries.”
At the dessert bar, Micah chose a large portion of apple cobbler, topped with a dollop of soft ice cream. Debbie took carrot cake, but Laurel picked up one cookie, wondering if she could eat it. The food she’d already eaten seemed like a lead weight in her stomach, and she felt nauseous. She desperately needed to be alone. The waitress brought Laurel and Micah fresh cups of coffee, and Debbie had a refill of iced tea.
“But you can’t pick out a favorite place?” Debbie persisted, while they ate their desserts.
“Not on the spot like this. I’m always so busy looking forward to a new assignment that I rarely think about previous ones. I’ll have to go through my scrapbooks and slide files and see if I can choose a favorite. Then perhaps I can revisit the area, and make a comparison of my impressions during my original research and what they are on my second visit.”
“Seems like an excellent idea to me,” Debbie said. She must have suddenly realized how quiet her mother had been, because Debbie covered Laurel’s hand with hers. “Say, Mom, we’re leaving you out of the conversation. I always talk too much. It’s your turn to ask Micah some questions.”
Laurel had noticed that Debbie and Micah had reached a first-name relationship right away. Determined that Debbie wouldn’t notice her distress, Laurel forced a smile and said, “You’re doing enough talking for both of us. But if Micah can’t think of a favorite place he’s photographed, I’ll settle for one of the most exotic places he’s explored.”
“I have a large number of those to choose from,” he said. “Machu Picchu comes to mind. You’ve heard of it?”
The name was familiar, but Laurel couldn’t remember what or where it was.
“Some kind of an Inca site in Peru, right?” Debbie replied.
“Right. I went there about ten years ago. I rode a train from Cusco, Peru, to a little village at the foot of an Andean mountain where the historical site is located. I took a rickety bus along a narrow, curvy road to the top of the mountain. The driver handled that bus like he was driving a race car. After the ride up the mountain, I would have walked back down if it hadn’t been for all the heavy equipment I had with me.”
“Sorry to show my ignorance, but you two college graduates will have to refresh my memory on what Machu Picchu is,” Laurel said, wishing as she often had before that she’d gone to college instead of getting married at eighteen.
“It’s one of the most beautiful and perplexing sights I’ve ever seen,” Micah said. “The Inca people carved hundreds of stone structures from the granite mountaintop in the fifteenth century. It was a self-contained city invisible from the valley below. When it was rediscovered in 1911 by Hiram Bingham, a Yale archaeologist, the jungle had taken over the site. Although the village is in ruins, enough of the dwellings are left to get an accurate idea of how the Incas lived and worshiped. I camped on the mountain one night and spent hours worshiping God, but after today’s sermon, I’m not sure I worshiped Him in spirit and in truth.”
Glancing at her watch, Debbie said, “I hate to break up our pleasant meal, but I have to be at work in an hour.”
Êîíåö îçíàêîìèòåëüíîãî ôðàãìåíòà.
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