A Man of His Word

by Sandra Steffen

  Taking out a loaf of bread, she began preparing egg salad sandwiches for lunch. She quartered them diagonally and added chips and blueberries to three plates. It wasn’t long before the answering texts began coming in.

  Of course we’ll come! her sister-in-law, Kristy texted. I just made a bowl of potato salad. I’ll bring it along.

  Sounds like fun, her best friend, Lacey Sullivan, who was expecting twins, replied. Put me down for brownies with cream cheese and real fudge.

  Maddie has a friend over, April’s sister-in-law Gabby wrote. Is it okay if she comes, too?

  For the next hour, texts were exchanged, April’s menu was discussed and side dishes were evaluated, with some scratched off the list and new ones substituted. Jay’s family would swoop in the way they always did, big and loving and boisterous and accepting. She didn’t know how she would have gotten through the past fourteen months without them.

  Her own father had been a wonderful preacher. Sadly he’d died too young. Like April, her mother had always been strong and independent. Right now she was in Africa with her church group building a school for orphans. Though every bit as caring, her family had never been as loud and bossy as Jay’s, and yet April had quickly acclimated to their enthusiasm. Surely Cole could handle it for one night.

  But would he come?

  After lunch she and the girls went to the grocery store for charcoal and all the fixings for a barbecue. She spruced up the house and set out the paper plates and plastic cutlery. She was deciding on drinks when one final text came in. It was from Jay’s mother and spoke for them all.

  Is Cole Cavanaugh what you expected?

  Was he? April took a shower and gave Gracie and Violet a bath. Helping the girls into sundresses, she sighed.

  Other than offering up a silent prayer for his recovery a year ago, she hadn’t considered what Cole Cavanaugh was like. She certainly hadn’t expected him to appear on her doorstep. She didn’t know what to expect this evening, either.

  She remembered how he’d looked at her when she’d first touched his bee sting. For the span of two heartbeats, they’d stood but a hairbreadth apart, and she’d done it again: she’d breathed him in. He was crisp new snow on the hottest day of the year.

  His muscles had tensed and every inch of him had gone on red alert. Was he uncomfortable with the slightest human touch or was he starving for it?

  His eyes had widened when she’d told him he needed to join them tonight. Then the shutters had come down.

  Would he stop by?

  Honestly, she just didn’t know. She wanted him to, wanted to see him again. As a friend, she told herself. She prayed that was all it was, because she wasn’t ready for this to be anything else. She doubted she would ever be ready.

  The tug she felt deep in her belly begged to differ. And she didn’t know what she was going to do about it.

  * * *

  Cole parked his truck in the shade along the edge of the paved path that wound through a rolling tract of land on the south end of Orchard Hill. Donning sunglasses, he set off on foot, heading for the area where the trees hadn’t had time to grow old.

  Other people were visiting today, too, but not many. Cole was aware of them the same way he was aware of the bird that flew across his path and the names on the markers he passed.

  He walked up and down rows, back and forth beneath the pummeling sunshine. Finally, he came upon what he was looking for from the back. The first thing he noticed was the dainty handprints etched into the stone. Between them the words We love you, Daddy.

  At the very top block letters spelled AVERY.

  Cole’s shirt was stuck to the middle of his back from the summer heat. Carefully skirting around to the other side of the marker, he stood statue-still on the soft grass, his eyes on the shiny slab of granite that marked the place where Jay’s body now lay.

  Jason Matthew Avery

  A man of immeasurable honor...

  Husband, father, son, brother, friend

  May 28, 1986—June 2, 2018

  US Army insignia were etched into one corner bearing the stripes that corresponded to Jay’s rank as sergeant, along with a perfect replica of his medal of valor. Above that was a quote from the bible.

  “Blessed are they that mourn for they shall be comforted.”

  Matthew 5:4

  The words were simple but profound. Standing at attention, Cole breathed deeply, staring at the stone until Jay’s name blurred and his face took form in his mind.

  I’m here, Cole said silently. In Orchard Hill. You probably already know that. Either April told you, or you can see from where you are.

  He’d heard of people who’d experienced signs from the great beyond. The fact that he experienced no gooseflesh or flickers of light or otherworldly whispers in his ear didn’t deter Cole from telling his best friend where he was staying and that he’d been right: Violet’s and Gracie’s perfection defied description.

  While Cole carried on a silent conversation, a squirrel stopped in front of Jay’s headstone. Paying his surroundings little attention, Cole told Jay about his gas mileage and shared a funny story about one of the guys from their old unit. He mentioned a medic they both knew and the gains he and their fellow countrymen had made for their ally. He told him how April and the kids were doing, and that other than missing him, they were well.

  He talked for so long the squirrel returned, scuttling up a nearby tree, which set off a raucous chirping and squawking from a pair of blue jays that had claimed that branch. Cole ignored the noise, for he was almost ready to say what he’d come here to say.

  He wasn’t sure where to begin, but Jay knew him well enough to let him ramble. He talked in circles, and ended with a solemn promise, just between the two of them.

  Cole had been so focused for so long he hadn’t noticed that the sun had stopped scorching his arms and neck and the shards of light reflecting off the rough-cut edges of the stone marker were no longer blinding. He felt it then, not a sign, but a sprinkle that landed on his forehead and slowly rolled down his temple. He glanced all around and then looked up.

  Holy—

  He whipped his sunglasses off and started to run. With his eyes fixed on his truck in the distance, he felt the workout deep in his thigh.

  Even if he’d been a sprinter, he wouldn’t have made it to shelter in time, for the sky opened up, catching him in a driving downpour. He was winded when he reached his vehicle, and soaking wet, as well. His leather seat was wet, too, for he’d left his windows down.

  He got in, inserted his key in the ignition and ran the windows up with the press of two buttons. From far in the distance came the rumble of thunder. Another rumble followed, closer this time. Lightning forked in the western sky. But here in this grassy field there was only thunder and warm rain cascading from clouds so low they seemed to touch the earth on all sides.

  Cole started his truck and turned the windshield wipers on high. As he followed the winding path back out through the open gate, his radio died and his phone lost its signal. Pulling into the parking lot at the inn, he coasted to a stop in his usual spot, set the parking brake and made a run for the inn’s sweeping front porch. Drenched, he went inside where the innkeeper, Summer Merrick, waved aside his apology over leaving wet tracks on the floor.

  He ascended the stairs stiffly, unlocked his door and stripped out of his wet clothes. Toweling off, he crawled into the large bed. He drew the sheet over him, and checked his watch before dropping it onto the nightstand next to his useless phone.

  He’d been pushing himself to the brink of his endurance for two years, first in the Middle East and then in grueling physical therapy. He was tired. So tired. He hadn’t slept well last night, or the night before that, and while he wouldn’t go so far as to say he’d found comfort this afternoon, the promise he’d made to Jay had brought him a glimmer of peace.


  He lay on his back between scented sheets, the feather pillows beneath his head unbelievably soft, the air artificially cooled, the room already the hazy color of early evening. Lightning struck and thunder shook the ground the inn sat on.

  Outside, a storm raged, bending trees and wreaking havoc with anything not battened down. In a large shadowy room in an inn on the outskirts of Orchard Hill, Cole was already sound asleep.

  Chapter Four

  April had heard of stairways to heaven, but the rays of yellow sunlight shining through invisible breaks in the clouds looked more like grace shining down all around her. Turning right onto Jefferson Street, she waved to the linemen working diligently to restore electricity to the citizens of Orchard Hill. Hopefully she wouldn’t encounter any more closed streets during the remaining five blocks to the Stone Inn.

  While she’d been planning her barbecue, a storm erupted out of the blue with a clap of thunder that shook the house. She’d been shutting windows against the driving rain when lightning struck so close she’d reeled backward. The lights flashed out while she was whisking the girls to the basement.

  They’d huddled on April’s lap, Violet’s face buried in her mother’s shoulder and Gracie’s eyes round. When they’d crept back up the stairs twenty minutes later, the soft patter of rain was all that remained of the storm.

  Now the air was a comfortable seventy-six degrees and the humidity was back to normal. Although maple leaves littered her yard, the majority of the damage from one end of Orchard Hill to the other was the result of lightning strikes. It was a miracle no one was hurt.

  At least no one she knew of.

  The electric company estimated that her power wouldn’t be restored until midnight tonight, so she’d postponed the barbecue until tomorrow. Cole was the only one she hadn’t contacted because there was something wrong with his phone. She and the girls were on their way to the inn to let him know.

  “Look at that tree, Mama.” Violet’s face was pressed close to the window. “How will they get it back in the hole?”

  “They won’t,” Gracie declared from her side of the back seat. “See the roots? They’re out of the ground. It’s dead.”

  “God could put it back in,” Violet insisted.

  “Could He, Mama?”

  Pulling into a parking space well away from the fallen sycamore, April wished she had a dollar for every question these two had asked since setting out on this trek. “I have a feeling this old tree is going to be someone’s firewood next winter. You may unfasten your seat belts now.”

  “Is that Cole’s black truck, Mama?”

  “I believe it is.”

  “Do you see him?” Violet asked.

  “Not yet.” With a daughter holding each hand, April spied one man assessing the damage and three others out of harm’s way in the side yard. None of them were tall or raw-boned or smolderingly intense. Cole wasn’t among those milling about in the courtyard, either.

  “Let’s go in,” Gracie bossed.

  April was already opening the heavy oak door.

  She’d attended a bridal shower for a friend here a few years ago. The bed-and-breakfast inn was quieter today and all but deserted. The floors were polished mahogany, the foyer large and open, candles flickering in glass-domed wall sconces. Two overstuffed chairs beckoned invitingly from a cozy nook in a sitting room visible through large French doors.

  A puzzle had been started on a small table, seemingly forgotten, and board games were stacked on a shelf nearby. The only person in sight was sitting at the innkeeper’s desk near the stairs. It wasn’t Summer Merrick, the innkeeper herself, but the high-spirited woman who lived next door.

  “Hello, Mrs. Ferris. I have a favor to ask.”

  The diminutive redhead’s eyes grew large behind her thick glasses. “Hello, April dear, and a good afternoon to Violet and Gracie, too. If you’re hoping to rent a room because your power’s out, I’m afraid ours is out, too.”

  “It’s not that,” April said. “I wonder if you would deliver a message to one of your guests.”

  “Which one, dear?”

  “Cole Cavanaugh.”

  There was no reason to suspect the glint in Harriet’s faded blue eyes was anything but idle curiosity. “You know Cole?” she asked.

  While April was trying to decide how many details she needed to share, Harriet said, “Of course you do. Why else would you wish to have a message delivered to him, hmm? I haven’t seen him since this morning. If he’s upstairs, he’s the only guest who is. The others are outside telling storm stories. Summer is standing in line at the gas station trying to buy ice, and I really shouldn’t leave my post at the desk.”

  “I see.”

  “Are those suckers?”

  “Gracie!” April admonished.

  Harriet was already opening the glass jar on the desk. Winking at April, she said, “Why don’t you go up and deliver your message while these two and I have a contest to see who can finish our lollipop without biting?”

  “I don’t want to take advantage of—”

  “Nonsense.” Harriet popped a sucker into her mouth. “His is room eight.” Pointing with an arthritic finger, she said, “Turn right at the top of the stairs, then all the way to the end of the hall.”

  A woman of indiscernible age, Harriet Ferris had been a fixture in Orchard Hill all her life. She’d taught Jay and two of his sisters Sunday school and had always had a way with people, children and men especially. Mr. Ferris adored her. With Gracie and Violet happily engaged in their contest, April started up the sweeping open staircase.

  “Don’t you worry about the g-h-o-s-t,” Harriet called around her orange lollipop. “No one has seen her for days.”

  Goose bumps did a rainbow dance along April’s arms. A ghost? She believed in grace and eternity and karma and the possibility that somewhere beyond the Milky Way other life might exist.

  But a ghost?

  April just couldn’t see it. Smiling at her own wittiness, she turned right at the top of the stairs, the hem of her light summer dress brushing her knees like a whisper.

  The only illumination on this floor came from the faint sunlight spilling through the windows on either end of the narrow hallway. The floors were polished oak, but a carpet runner muted her footsteps.

  She reached room eight and paused before the closed door. Turning her head slightly, she listened for some sound from within. The door opened a few inches on silent hinges.

  She hadn’t touched it. She would swear to it, and yet she found herself looking over her shoulder. The curtain at the end of the hall billowed softly in the slight breeze. She supposed it was possible the wind could have been responsible for opening Cole’s door. Why wasn’t it latched and locked?

  Eyeing the door, ajar now, she listened again. From inside there came a rustle and what sounded like a mattress shifting slightly.

  “Cole?” she said softly. “It’s me. April.”

  This time she heard only silence.

  She considered returning to the front desk and asking Harriet for a pen and paper to leave a note, but she happened to spy a small table near the door inside Cole’s room. On it was a lamp, a pad of pale yellow stationery and a pen. If she could reach that pen and paper, she would jot a quick note.

  She called Cole’s name again. Hearing no response, she stretched her arm through the narrow opening without stepping over the threshold and found the edge of the table with her fingertips. Reaching a few inches farther, she touched the pen.

  It rolled off, onto the floor.

  Holding in an impatient huff, she bent down to get it. In the process her shoulder accidentally nudged the door, and it swung open.

  She rose from her crouch, the pen in her hand, and saw that the room was large and contained a tall chest of drawers and a high-backed chair. The floor-to-ceiling drapes tinted th
e air the bronze of early evening. Between the windows was a four-poster bed, and in it, a man, dark-haired and raw-boned, lay covered to his waist.

  “Cole?” she called softly.

  His eyelashes didn’t so much as flutter. After a careful study of his chest, she detected movement, in and out, and in again. He appeared to be sound asleep.

  His chest was spattered sparsely with dark hair. His abs were ridged, his navel a shadow, the lower half of him covered loosely with a beige sheet.

  A wild fluttering began in her chest and heat flooded her cheeks. For heaven’s sake, it wasn’t as if she’d never seen a man’s bare chest. Before Cole woke up and caught her staring like an imbecile and blushing like a schoolgirl, she tiptoed the remaining few feet to that table. Her back to the room, she quickly jotted a note, all her concentration focused on her task.

  “Is Cole dead?”

  April’s heart nearly exploded. Gracie stood in the doorway, one strap of her light blue sundress sliding off one shoulder. Her lips were purple from her lollipop, wisps of fine blond hair framing her angelic face.

  “Gracie, shhh.”

  “Well, is he?” For an angel, her little girl had a whisper that could penetrate steel.

  “No. Now hush,” April said quietly. “I’m leaving him a note.”

  “Is Cole naked?” Of course, Violet was now here, too. She pushed her way inside next to her sister. Her lips were red from her lollipop, her sundress yellow, her curly hair held away from her cherubic face with mismatched barrettes.

  “That’s rude and it’s none of our business.”

  “He is,” Gracie said to her sister.

  Holding one hand out to bar her darling daughters from walking right up to the bed to get a better look, she hurriedly signed the note. “When he wakes up and sees this he’ll know the barbecue has been postponed until tomorrow. Let’s go.”