A Journey by Chance

by Sally John

  “Oops,” Brady said, “that might be too much of a leap.” He shoved aside the dishes and reached for both of her hands. “Maybe the, uh, interest isn’t anywhere near mutual?”

  She looked at his slender, workingman fingers wrapped around hers. They felt rough. She had seen them covered in black oil while he worked under the hood of a tractor. She imagined them on a keyboard, tapping out beautiful words that changed her life. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Oh, Brady. I can’t trust my feelings right now.”

  “Too irrational and illogical?”

  “Yes, and logically speaking, I don’t fit here with you and your friends.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Too Midwestern for you? Too beneath your—”

  “No! Exactly the opposite. I’m beneath your standards. You must know that. Until now I didn’t know anyone who waited for marriage. Including myself.” She watched his face register surprise. Oh, the guy was definitely leaps and bounds out of her league. Mr. Homespun… “Please, Brady! Don’t keep making me out to be someone I’m not!”

  He raised one of her hands to his lips and kissed it. “You’re a new woman in Christ.”

  “But there is baggage.”

  “We all have baggage of some sort. I love you, Gina.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment. “The Seattle zoo called. They offered the job. Starting the first of August. I have to go home next week and move myself up there.”

  His hands tightened over hers, and he gave her a genuine smile. “Congratulations.” He blew out a breath. “And here I thought I had things figured out. I should know whenever that happens, God’s going to surprise me. Ready to go? I have mowing to do.”

  She had given him a way out, and he had grasped hold of it like a drowning man thrown a rope. It was for the best for both of them, but somewhere deep inside herself Gina ached.

  Outside they walked silently to his truck. He held the door open for her, shut it, and leaned in through the open window. “You’ll join me, won’t you?”

  “When? For what?

  “Now. Mowing.”

  “Mowing?”

  “Sure. You know it’s true love in the Midwest when she rides on the tractor with him.”

  He had done it again, poured a warm, soothing balm on the hurt. She touched his forearm. “Change it to you know they’re the very best of friends when she rides on the tractor with him. Then I’ll say yes.”

  Brady’s eyes narrowed as he studied her face. “How about if I just stop talking about it?”

  “Excellent idea, Mr. Olafsson.”

  Forty-Two

  It wasn’t a FedEx truck on Tuesday.

  It was a white stretch limousine.

  Maggie eyed the chauffeur through the screen door. Hat in hand, he wore the professional demeanor and black uniform with its row of right-angled buttons.

  “Mrs. Philips?”

  She hesitated. It had nothing to do with the honest-faced stranger who smiled politely. He was gray-haired and thickset, almost bodyguard-like in appearance. No, the hesitation stemmed from the wariness that had settled over her since yesterday’s delivery of the painting. That painting…still unceremoniously propped against the wall where Gina had set it. She swallowed. As the mean aunt, she had lost her edge. “Y-yes.”

  “Hello. My name is Julius. Mr. Philips has asked that I escort you. Your limousine is ready whenever you are. May I suggest that we leave as soon as possible? The agenda is quite full.”

  “Gina!” she yelled in the cheerleader voice she hadn’t used in years, then twirled around.

  Gina, Marsha, and Aunt Lottie scurried through the doorway from the dining room. They must have been right behind her when she left the kitchen to answer the doorbell.

  “What’s going on?” Maggie asked.

  Giggles and grins erupted among the three women.

  “Mom, just go. Do what the chauffeur says.”

  “What is going on?!”

  Marsha made a shooing motion with her hands. “Go, Maggie. Reece has planned something special for you.”

  “There’s far too much to do here. I don’t have time for anything that’s not on the agenda.”

  “Gina’s taking over. Everything is covered. We’re even going to the masseuse together. While my house is being cleaned, thank you very much.”

  “I’m really not in the mood for surprises. I was looking forward to a massage myself.”

  The grins faded.

  “Mother, he’s trying.”

  Aunt Lottie spoke up. “Honey, you know I don’t like to interfere, but it would seem prudent that you meet the man halfway.”

  Maggie’s heart pounded in her throat.

  It was Marsha’s turn. “Remember praying about being a loving wife? Here’s your chance, Magpie. Go for it.”

  “But—”

  “Take the first step. God will carry you after that.”

  Dread and anxiety washed through her. She felt as if her bones melted and all thought processes shut down.

  Marsha flung an arm around her shoulder and gently kneaded her forehead. “Stop frowning, sis. The man loves you.”

  Gina handed Maggie her purse. “There, Mom. You’re good to go.”

  Aunt Lottie pressed her way in and gave her a sound hug. “We’ll be praying for you.”

  Marsha hugged her, then Gina. They each grasped an arm and prodded her through the front door. She couldn’t summon the strength to protest.

  At the limo, Julius opened the back door, revealing a luscious burgundy carpet and matching butter-soft leather seats.

  Maggie glanced down at her burnt orange camp shirt and white denim skirt above the royal-blue walking cast and cried out in alarm, “I’ve got to change my clothes!”

  “Mother, there’s no time. Besides, you look fine for what you’ll be doing.” Gina nudged her inside.

  Classical music floated on the cool air that greeted her. The other women climbed in behind her, begging to take a peek. They oohed and aahed, declared it gorgeously elegant, discovered the telephone, television, CD player, magazines, orange juice, fruit basket, and croissants. Maggie noticed the white carafe with cup and saucer beside one of the seats. It probably contained coffee. The magazines, the food, and the strands of a Bach concerto all suggested that it probably contained not just any coffee.

  The others got out and stood on the curb, waving goodbye as the limo pulled silently away as if on a cushion of air. She unscrewed the carafe lid and sniffed.

  Almond-flavored. Her favorite.

  When had Reece noticed?

  Dear Lord, I’m really not ready for this.

  As Valley Oaks faded from view, Maggie asked Julius one question, “Where are we going?”

  In the rearview mirror his smile was enigmatic beneath his cap and dark glasses. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m not at liberty to disclose that.” He slid the window shut between them.

  Once on the interstate, she knew where they were headed. Reece would, of course, bring her to Chicago.

  Chicago.

  Oh, Lord, I’m really, really not ready for this.

  As mile after mile of corn, soybeans, and prairie grass flew by, Maggie fought down incessant, nagging thoughts of what she wasn’t accomplishing for her sister and niece. She chewed her lip, drummed her fingers, held imaginary fretful conversations with Reece about his timing. Those all ended with Gina’s haunting words, “He’s trying.” The magazines went unread, the croissants untasted. She fortified herself with the entire carafe of coffee.

  She punched the intercom button. “Julius, I need that rest stop coming up.”

  There was a state highway patrol car in the lot. She could find the officer and tell him she’d been kidnapped. By her husband. And why would he do that, ma’am? Well, he’s trying to win back my heart. How? By taking me to Chicago where…well, I’m just not ready for this; I have too many other things to attend to. Ma’am, did you come willingly? In a way. I’m just trying to be obedient to Christ. She would have lost the guy by
then.

  Less than 90 minutes from the time they had left Valley Oaks, the faint outline of skyscrapers appeared in the hazy distance. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the cushy seat. It was time to change the prayer. Dear Father, what do You want from me?

  Maggie imagined Julius would take her to the Art Institute because Reece would remember it was one of her favorite places in the city. He would be waiting. He would stroll beside her, yawning his way through the exhibits. They would wander down Michigan Avenue, choose a restaurant where she wouldn’t feel too tacky in a denim skirt and cast. They would sit by a window, watch pedestrians, and not have anything to say to each other. She would thank him for the effort, get back into the limo, and go home.

  Except for the limousine’s role, the scene had been played.

  Too soon they were in the midst of thick traffic on Lake Shore Drive. Lake Michigan sparkled, reflecting summer’s deep blue sky. Maggie took a deep breath. Give him a break. He is trying.

  On Michigan Avenue, the chauffeur turned the opposite direction from the Institute…and pulled into the covered drive of the Hilton.

  Tears sprang to Maggie’s eyes. Of course. Their honeymoon hotel.

  Julius braked and turned in his seat, smiling broadly. He loved the dividing window. “Have a pleasant day, Mrs. Philips.”

  A doorman opened her door. A young woman wearing a concierge badge greeted her, “Mrs. Philips, welcome to the Hilton.” She whisked her right past the check-in counter and into an elevator, chatting the entire way about what was going on in the city this beautiful June day. On the twenty-first floor she led her down the hall, around a few corners to a door where she slipped in a key card and stepped aside. “I’ll leave this key with you. Please call my desk if you have any questions. Have a wonderful day.”

  “But what am I doing?”

  “I think you’ll find everything you need in your suite. Enjoy.”

  A magnificent view of Lake Michigan filled the windows lining one entire wall of a large sitting room, but it was the scent of roses that overpowered the room. Bouquets sat on every flat surface. A dozen red here, a dozen orchid-colored ones there, a dozen yellow, a dozen white. She walked through into the bedroom and found two more bouquets of pinks. In the bathroom was a bouquet with a rose of every color.

  An array of cosmetics caught her eye. She breathed a drawn out “Oh.” Her brand of everything in new, unopened containers filled the vanity counter. Cleansing cream, day and night moisturizers, lipsticks, eye shadow, shampoo, hair spray…perfume. Everything. What was going on?!

  She hurried back out to the sitting room. There was an envelope propped against one of the vases. Her name was written neatly in calligraphy. She pulled out the card.

  You are cordially invited to a day off.

  __________________________

  10:00 – 11:00

  Inspect the suite.

  11:00 – 1:00

  Art Institute—Special Exhibit

  and Lunch Inside at

  Restaurant on the Park

  1:00 – 4:00

  Appointments in the Hilton Salon

  for Massage, Hair, Manicure, Facial

  5:30

  Leave for Dinner at

  The Signature Room

  8:00

  “Phantom of the Opera”

  at the Opera House

  __________________________

  Transportation will be provided by Julius.

  Please check the closet

  and bureau for necessities.

  “Oh!” She hurried past the couch and overstuffed arm chairs. In the bedroom she flung open the closet door. “Oh, my goodness!”

  Clothes with tags still attached hung neatly on hangers. A casual pale blue sleeveless dress…perfect for the afternoon. A pale green linen skirt and white knit top…for tomorrow? A black dress. She pulled it out. It was dazzling: short sleeves, ankle length, the bodice covered with iridescent beads. She carefully returned it to its place beside a beautiful, long white silk nightgown. On the floor were shoes that matched the dresses and luggage for packing it all.

  She slid open the dresser drawers. Rhinestone earrings and bracelet, an evening bag, underclothes.

  Maggie realized she truly did not need a thing…except the desire to receive the lavish gifts from a man she wasn’t sure she even cared to see.

  Forty-Three

  Gina handed Brady a dish towel. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  It was like asking if he minded living in his woods or if he minded writing for a living. His passion for being with her ran as deep. “Do I get to stand beside you while we do the dishes?”

  Ignoring his question, she tilted her head downward and slid dinner plates into the sudsy water.

  Aunt Lottie shuffled into the kitchen. “You two be sure to leave the light on, just in case Maggie gets home late tonight.”

  “Aunt Lottie, you said you were going to bed!”

  “I am, honey. I just thought the sight of you two snuggling in my kitchen would give me pleasant dreams.”

  “We’re not—!”

  Brady threw his arm around her shoulders. “But we could!”

  Aunt Lottie beamed. “Good night.” She shut the back staircase door behind her. They could hear her giggling all the way up.

  Gina elbowed him away. “But we’re not because you brought the Scrabble board, right?”

  “Right. Speaking of romance, I wonder how the adventure is going with your folks?”

  “I can’t wait to hear all about it. I cannot believe all the surprises Dad had planned.”

  “Quite a display of extravagant love. Kind of like Jesus.”

  Again she focused on the sink full of dishwater.

  Brady let it go. From recent conversations he knew she struggled to understand such a love. She was running from it, guilt-ridden from living in worldly ways, not grasping the fact that the kindest, most moral, churchgoing person did not deserve God’s love either. He prayed to know how to show her that kind of love.

  She changed the subject. “How did things go at your committee meeting?”

  He blew out a breath, a sound of disgust. “Biggest bunch of nonprogressive dolts I’ve ever had the misfortune to work with. There’s so much history in and around my property. I cannot believe they’d turn it over so easily to a developer. They may as well dump toxic waste across my road.”

  “Every one of them is like that?”

  “Well, no. Half of them would leave things as is, use the land for green space. Or let me buy it. Without my vote, though, it’s a tie. And they all agree I can’t vote the tie-breaker.”

  “It is a conflict of interest, don’t you agree?”

  “It’s not my property, only adjacent to it. There are plenty of other acreages for housing.”

  “Brady.” She stared at him, her green eyes serious, and flicked a wet hand at his shoulder.

  “What?”

  “That chip’s back. You’re sounding angry and offensive and extremely one-sided here.”

  “Gina, this is my livelihood we’re talking about! There’s no way I can work in the middle of a neighborhood.”

  “Have you ever tried?”

  “Haven’t had to.”

  “Well? How can you be so sure then? Besides, there’d still be a ravine between you and them.”

  “Which is not on my property, which someone will build a deck out into.”

  “So close your windows.”

  “I like my windows open. Every season.”

  “Even when it’s -50 wind chill?” She gave him a sly smile. “And snowing?”

  “It’s the principle of the thing. Valley Oaks doesn’t need housing there and it should hang on to its history!”

  “Does that mean you’re going to offer to fix up the old Crowley place, make it a local attraction? Maybe get it registered with the Historical Society? Open it to the public?”

  “No.”

  She drained the sink. “In other w
ords you just want your privacy.”

  That certainly sounds selfish, he thought.

  “Brady, that sounds unbelievably selfish.”

  Yes, unbelievably. “Gina.” He sighed. He really had no explanation.

  “Maybe it is the best thing for the town if it was developed. I mean, if the entire school board thinks it would draw people here and enlarge the tax base for better education—”

  “Not everyone thinks that way.”

  She took the towel from him and folded it. “Why don’t you go run around the block? You sound too angry to play Scrabble.”

  “I’m fine.”

  She gripped his arms and turned him around, then pushed him through the back door. “You’re not fine. Go cool down.”

  He lurched down the porch steps and looked back at her.

  Gina stretched out and touched his face. “You’ll never be able to kiss me good night with your jaw clenched like that,” she whispered.

  It was the best incentive he’d ever had to run around the block. “You’ll wait?”

  “I’ll wait.” She sashayed back into the house. “And you thought I was a snob.”

  Brady strode toward the front sidewalk, inhaled the dewy, fragrant night, and glanced up at the stars. His anger dissolved even before he took his first jogging step. He only hoped his jaw would unclench.

  Forty-Four

  Somewhere between the shearing of her natural curls and slipping into the elegant black dress, Maggie felt an inkling of nervous anticipation. It had been a lovely day and a very special person had ordered it. She recognized this hope to have dinner with him as an answer to prayer.

  Her hopes fell when Julius opened the limousine door and she saw the empty interior. At the John Hancock Center she entered the elevator with two other couples. She didn’t mind dining alone, actually. She valued her independence, but…this was an evening to be shared. She wanted to thank Reece for his efforts, for his gifts, and most of all, to ask him to his face for forgiveness.

  The maître d’ surprised her by greeting her by name. “Good evening, Mrs. Philips. Follow me, please.”

  She wondered how she could again be caught by surprise. It had been happening all day.