Pearl’s eyes widened. A tall man with shaggy hair hurried from the entrance of the church, hands clutched around his middle like he had a bundle of groceries tucked under his shirt. Then he darted around the other side. She blinked.
This could end up being an interesting day, after all. Pearl leaned close to the glass, as if staring hard enough would make the man come back. She wiped away the moisture fogging the slick surface.
The stranger reappeared a few minutes later and paced around the churchyard like he was lost, talking to himself it seemed. He was awfully jittery. Then he picked up the tree limbs littered around the huge churchyard until he established a substantial pile.
What in the world . . . ?
She slipped out the door and sat on her front porch swing with her mug clutched in her hands. From here she had a clear view of the man and his exploits.
It was a blessing the church had voted for her to retain the parsonage after Elliot passed away. Though cancer ripped through her husband’s body for two years, he’d persisted in being in the pulpit every Sunday even if he had to preach from a wheelchair, voice failing. Until they’d lost their only son. After Marshall was gone, Elliot lost his verve. A month later, Pearl was alone.
She sighed. Seeing that church every day was a gift and a trial in equal measure. She gulped the last of her tepid coffee, and then slipped out of her bunny slippers and into the garden shoes waiting by the door.
The mystery man had disappeared into the church’s toolshed and appeared moments later wrestling the rusty push mower.
She headed to the garden, pulling on her gloves as she went, stealing glimpses of the wild-haired young man who now fiddled with the unresponsive old mower. It was high time someone paid attention to the grass, but he seemed an odd choice for church groundskeeper. Pastor Thomas must be getting desperate. She had a growing suspicion he’d had a full staff at his last church. Triune First was traditionally a one-man operation.
Pearl perched on a three-legged stool between the rows of vegetables, weeding and keeping an eye on this newcomer. He’d strewn tools on the grass and stared at them as though trying to decide which to pick up first. Then for no apparent reason, he jumped up and hurried back around the side of the church facing the woods. The same place he’d gone before.
Hands on her hips, she stared at the place where he’d knelt moments ago.
Ten minutes later he returned and resumed work like nothing had happened. Shortly after, his face twisted in disgust, and then he ran behind the church again.
After a while, he was back, shoulders hunched, fidgeting with his shirt, glancing around, on guard. As he turned in her direction, she stooped behind her cornstalks.
She shook her head. Drugs, probably. Something wasn’t right, anyway.
There was nothing dearer to her heart than helping troubled young people, but having a drug addict employed at the church was too big of a risk. As much as she didn’t want to be another voice questioning the pastor’s leadership, she’d have to speak to Pastor Thomas about this.
When the sun inched higher, shy of noon, she pulled off her gloves, left them on the stool, and headed into the house. Before she spoke to Pastor Thomas, maybe she ought to check things out for herself.
The man had yawned his way through the past two hours. A cuppa joe might be just the thing to break the ice. She picked a navy and green plaid mug and filled it to the brim. He looked like a plaid kind of chap.
Lost in tinkering with the motor, the man didn’t lift his head at her approach. He sang softly. A lullaby? Definitely drugs. She cleared her throat.
His wrench jumped from his hand and clattered against the rusted motor. He jerked straight and then crossed his arms over his middle. Eyes wide and chest heaving.
“I’m Pearl. Sorry to have startled you. I just wanted to offer you a cup of coffee and say hello.” She studied his dark-circled eyes. They were the color of rich, turned earth. Clear and lucid. “You seemed like you could use it.” She held out the coffee and nodded. “Here. This is for you.”
He stared at the cup, and then reached with unsteady hands streaked with black grease. The man’s gaze reminded her of the hummingbirds that visited her feeder every afternoon. Flitting here and there but never lighting on a particular perch. His mouth moved but there was no sound. It was several long moments before anything intelligible emerged. “Harvey. Working for Pastor Thomas. My first day.” He shifted his feet.
Pearl offered a gentle smile and stepped back to make him more at ease. “Nice to meet you, Harvey. I live right over there if you need anything. You can leave the mug on the porch when you’re finished.”
He gave a tight nod.
Her heart twisted. It wasn’t drugs, but something wasn’t right.
CHAPTER
TEN
PRESENT DAY
The tension in Ivy’s stomach unfurled a fraction as her car inched past the weathered clapboard church. Gnarled oaks and maples concealed the quaint cottage at the end of the driveway.
Though Ivy had moved from Triune, Tennessee, when she was fourteen, no place felt as much like home as that tidy white cottage. It should be remembered the way it was the summers before. With Grandma coming out to greet her, carrying a tray laden with a pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade and a tin of butter cookies. Not still and quiet like an open casket.
Like fireflies flickering in the night whenever she’d spend summers at Grandma’s, Ivy had gotten glimpses of the childhood version of herself—strong, fearless, and confident she could take on the world. Could whatever waited inside the house help her find that girl again?
Rounding the final curve, she offered a muttered prayer that the heartache of this particular trip wouldn’t mar the magic of perfect childhood memories.
Ivy parked in front of the garage and unfolded from her car. The tidy flower beds were abloom with irises. Bird feeders were filled. The vegetable garden’s neat rows weeded and thriving. The scent of freshly mown grass wafted through the air. Despite her heavy heart, she smiled at her uncle’s handiwork.
Her mouth parched, tasting the phantom tart of Grandma’s lemonade. Ivy closed her eyes, begging to catch the sound of her tinkling laughter just one more time.
She took a steadying breath and headed down the walk. A shadow shifted on the porch and someone stood from the porch swing. Ivy squinted against the glare of sunlight coming over the peak of the rooftop. Reese?
All her lingering apprehension dissolved and something lighter filled its place.
From their first day of kindergarten, her stomach churning with nerves, he’d always been there for her. While all the other kids snickered and wrinkled their noses when she got sick all over the front of her white eyelet blouse, Reese went to his cubby and lent her his Batman T-shirt. She’d claimed him as her best friend from that day forward. At least until she’d let Seth’s jealousy come between them.
“Ivy?” He stepped from beneath the shadow of the porch with his thumbs hitched in the pockets of his well-worn jeans. Classic Reese. Put together, fit, at ease in his own skin.
Ivy swiped her tangled hair back from her face, regretting all the time spent on the highway with her windows down. She lifted her hand. “Hey, Reese.”
He walked to her and pulled her into a quick half hug. “I came over to give your uncle a hand in the garden this morning. You just missed him.”