A sign on the front door of the old Victorian home said to enter and ring the bell on the desk. She followed the directions, then waited. Every creak made her jump. Still, no one came.
She knew there were four guest rooms. She could start knocking.
No. Too awkward. So she tapped the little silver bell again, louder this time. Still no response.
Instead of heading toward the guest rooms, she first searched the living areas. When she reached the dining room, she heard voices outside. She peeked through the screen door at the back porch and found Mark sitting on an oversize rocking chair, holding a coffee mug. He and two other guests chatted with the Gunters.
Evening social hour.
Fighting the temptation to flee, she squared her shoulders. She would not waste putting herself through that awkward request for babysitting by chickening out.
She pushed the door open. “Hello?”
Though she tried her best to smile and look at the owners, her gaze automatically darted to Mark, whose rocking motion stilled the moment he spotted her.
“Oh, Hannah, dear,” Mrs. Gunter said from the chair beside Mark, in her thick German accent. An energetic seventy-year-old, she always wore cotton dresses covered with an apron…and knee-high stockings, the tops of which showed just below the hemline. “Come join us for cookies and coffee.”
“Thanks, but I can’t. I stopped by to talk with Mr. Ryker for a moment.”
“Oooh?” Mrs. Gunter said, with a hopeful lilt on the end of the word.
Mark hopped up, leaving his chair to rock back and forth without him in it. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Hughes?” Though concern drew his brows downward, his voice sounded perfectly calm and…well, perfect.
How could he infuriate her so, even in that smooth tone of voice? And where had his Georgia accent gone anyway? Had he purposefully hidden it? Was he ashamed of his past?
He should be ashamed of his past, accent or not. “I need to speak to you about something—privately.”
“You talk in the garden.” Mrs. Gunter stood and shooed them down the back steps. She pointed toward a path that led into a garden surrounded by holly hedges.
The sun was heading below the horizon as Mark followed her farther along the path dotted with pink-and- yellow lantana, pots of geraniums, beds of petunias. At the last event she’d attended at the Gunters’, a bridal shower, she’d thought the garden lovely, peaceful. But now, with the crescendo of frog calls, the oppressive, flower-scented air and closeness of Mark as he trailed behind her, right on her heels, the shrubbery closed in, smothering her.
At the first bench, she stopped and turned to him. “I know you donated the money for your dad.”
“And how could you have come to that conclusion?”
He was calm and cool and totally irritating. And those eyes…a woman could lose herself in those eyes.
She sat on the rough stone bench, mainly to get away from him. “Becca saw you outside the bank today.”
He sighed as he sat next to her. “I was afraid of that. I really want to keep this anonymous. So please don’t tell my father.”
“You’re afraid he’ll reject the donation if he finds out it’s from you?” As soon as the words left her mouth and she saw the hurt on his face, she regretted her question.
“I’m sure he’ll reject it. He wants nothing to do with me—which I understand. But I don’t want him to struggle when I’m able to help.”
Pity tried to worm its way into her heart, but she stood firm. One time, many years ago, she would have fallen for his spiel, for his generosity. At one time, she would have thought him attractive.
But this man had ruined Sydney’s reputation, started her on the road to alcoholism and then, when he realized what he’d done, vanished. She would not feel sorry for him.
“I don’t plan to tell your father. The deposit is simply bank business as far as I’m concerned. But if you try to make my family move before we’re ready, then I may have to reconsider.”
He raised his brows with what appeared to be humor. “Does your husband know you’re here threatening me?”
A flash of pain shot through her. Though it had been two years since his death, hearing someone say your husband still hurt. “My husband passed away. I’m simply taking care of my family the best I can.”
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry for your loss.” Genuine regret drew his brows back down from their teasing height and made him frown. Then he looked away.
If he’d had half a care for the people of his hometown, he would have known about Anthony’s death. The tree frogs seemed to lapse as awkward silence settled around them.
“So how long do you plan to live in Dad’s house?” he asked.
“Two to three years. I hope to buy or build as soon as possible.”
He seemed to consider whether he could tolerate his dad living in the garage for a few years. She wished she felt better about it herself. She’d been dealing with guilt since she’d watched Redd move out of the only home he’d ever known, watched him climb those steep garage stairs several times a day. She clung to the fact he’d said he was tired of rattling around that big old house, hoping it wasn’t strictly a financial decision. Now she couldn’t help but wonder if Redd had been truthful.
Mark stood and casually rested his hands in the pockets of his khaki pants, almost as if he’d rehearsed the genteel country-club look. “The house needs a lot of repairs. Maybe I could stick around and help.”
“So where did you get all this money to help your dad?” she blurted as she stood to face him.
A crooked smile raised one corner of his mouth, but no humor reached his eyes. “So you don’t think I could have earned it?”
Instead of stating the obvious, she gave him a look that conveyed her doubt.
“A project I started in grad school grew into a successful business. I’ve been blessed financially.”
Could she believe anything he said? “So tell me the name of this company.”
“You won’t recognize it, because our biggest contract is with the military. We’ve developed unmanned aerial vehicles.”
“Like spy planes or something?”
He stared into her eyes, his sparkling in the last rays of sunlight. “I promise you it’s all legitimate. I hope you’ll believe me.”
Grad school? Unmanned aerial vehicles? His tone—and those mesmerizing golden eyes—made her want to believe him. But she resisted his pull and snapped herself back to the problem at hand. “I don’t know why I, Sydney Williams’s sister, should believe a word you say.”
“I’m a changed man, Hannah. Thanks to God.”
Chills ran up her arms at his earnestness, at his conviction. But she wouldn’t be duped. “That’s nice.”
“I’m serious. I’m here because I felt God leading me to come and make amends. And I guess that means I should apologize to your sister, as well.”
An apology? Could mere words fix the past? Could they fix Sydney now?
Rage she’d held in for years simmered to the surface, trying to spew. She forced herself to speak in a calm voice, even as she wanted to get in his face and yell. “You know, after you left, my sister’s world fell apart. She stayed mixed up in that horrible crowd you ran with. Alcohol gave way to drugs. She flunked out of school. Got sent to juvie, then rehab.”
His earnest conviction turned to a look of disbelief. “I—I had no idea.”
Hannah was on a roll, and it felt good to let out the pent-up anger, especially at the man who caused it. She jabbed a finger in his chest, wanting him to know he’d destroyed all their lives. “My world fell apart, too. The strain destroyed my parents’ marriage. Their divorce—and a second round of rehab for Sydney—ruined us financially. Mom and I lost the house.” Her wor
ds wobbled against her will.
She’d been a sad, confused teenager, longing for a time before Sydney’s addiction, a time when she, too, had mattered. But the house had been the worst part for Hannah—losing the only home she’d ever known. Living briefly in a homeless shelter. Moving to an apartment. Changing schools. Losing friends.
Mark couldn’t run away this time. No, now he had to stand there and face the truth about what he’d done. She stared into his beautiful eyes to see if her revelation had affected him.
He hung his head, shaking it, staring at the ground. When he looked up, a sheen of tears reflected the moonlight in his eyes. She recognized anguish when she saw it.
Good. I hope he suffers a little of the pain I suffered.
He reached for her, then snatched his hand back. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
A sob heaved from deep inside, but she tamped it down. “Even if you wanted to apologize to Sydney, you can’t. She’s in her fourth round of rehab.” She turned to walk away but stopped. Tears burned her eyes as she stared at the blurry ground, then lifted her gaze to his.
“You can’t just make a donation to fix that, now, can you?”
As Hannah walked away, a wave of nausea hit Mark full force. He sank to the bench and closed his eyes, head hanging, hands dangling over his knees. Why, Lord? Did You bring me home for this? Not to apologize, but to see the destruction I left behind?
The look on Hannah’s face. Grief. Hurt. Anger that had been eating away at her for all these years.
He swallowed hard against the sorrow. Against the renewed guilt. No wonder Redd was still ashamed of him.
Lord, please show me what to do.
Sydney, such a fun-loving teenager, now in rehab for the fourth time. Hannah, losing her father, her way of life, her home.
All his fault.
Mark had no idea what, but he had to do something to repair the damage he’d caused the Williams family.
Avoiding the Gunters and other guests, he wound around to the side entrance and went to his room. He called his assistant to extend his vacation time. She wouldn’t believe him at first—thought he was kidding since he always ended up working through his supposed vacations. But he blocked out thirty days. He wouldn’t leave Corinthia until he’d earned Dad’s and the Williamses’ forgiveness.
Hannah’s sorrowful face and quivering voice flashed through his mind. How could he make amends to both his dad and Hannah? By enabling his dad to afford to move back into the main house, he would be pushing Hannah and her children out.
Chapter Four
Hannah’s tears. Dad’s shame.
Metal pans clanged somewhere down the hallway of the B and B as Mark flipped his Bible closed and headed out the door.
He’d gone searching for verses to strengthen him. To help him face his past. But to do so, he had to get through to his dad.
Time for a different approach. A businesslike approach. If Redd didn’t want to connect on a personal level, then Mark could drop by Hometown Hardware. See how it was doing. Maybe on more neutral territory than his mother’s favorite church pew or the old home place, he and his dad could find common ground.
Mark had gotten his head for business from his dad, as well as his love of tinkering and building things.
As he stood in front of the old Hometown Hardware building, a wave of nostalgia made him pause before going in. He and Matt used to love to come here. Mainly, to spend time with their dad—although he usually accused them of being underfoot and tried to shoo them to the back room. While banished to the back, Matt had preferred reading. But for Mark the tools and gadgets where Dad had set up a workshop had made the place a dream come true.
When he opened the front door, the old leather strip of sleigh bells announced his entry.
“Be right with you,” Redd called across several rows of shelves.
Mark sauntered down a couple of aisles that held boxes of nails, cans of paint, packages of plumbing parts. The smell of fertilizer brought back even more memories. Nothing much had changed through the years, other than the fact that the shelves didn’t seem quite as high as they once had.
“What can I do for— Mark?” His dad’s welcoming smile died.
Doubt crept in. Was this another stupid mistake? “I thought I’d come by and see how the store was doing. Looks good. Well stocked. Orderly.” And I’m rambling like a fool.
“You’re still in town?”
“I’m taking some time off. Thought I’d stick around awhile.”
Redd shook his head and headed for the sales counter. “Figured as much. You got fired. That’s why you’re here.”
Mark chomped down on his automatic response that as the boss, he did any and all firing. God was still teaching him to guard his tongue. And to guard against pride. “No, sir. Just a little overdue vacation time. You taught me a strong work ethic. I don’t take time off like I should.”
His dad’s face reddened as a scowl formed. “You saying I shoulda taken more time off?”
He and Matt had always wished their dad would take time to go fishing, go camping or even have regular meals with them. “I’m not implying anything. Just stating a fact.” He put his hands in his pockets and glanced around the cash register, unnerved by his dad’s scowl. “I’ve worked nonstop for years to get my company going, and now I’ve realized I could use a little time off.”
A harrumph punctuated a punch to the cash register that sent the drawer clanging open. He pulled out a stack of one-dollar bills and straightened them.
Mark waited, trying to be patient, wondering if he’d been dismissed.
The front door jangled.
“Be right with you.”
Yes, he’d been dismissed. He’d accomplished nothing. Yet again. “Well, Dad, I guess I’ll see you around.” He turned to leave. “I’m staying at the Gunters’ B and B if you need anything.”
Before he’d gotten far, his dad called, “So what type of company do you work at?”
A wedge formed in Mark’s throat, and he had to swallow to answer. “An aeronautical engineering firm. We design unmanned aerial vehicles.”
“Huh.” The word didn’t give a hint of the meaning behind it. “Sounds like a fancy name for remote-control toy planes.”
Mark caught himself smiling. “I guess some people might think of it like that. But they’re not toys. Our most recent contract uses them to safely monitor forest fires.”
Redd came from behind the counter but moved toward the new customer. “I’ve gotta get to work. Some of us can’t afford to take long vacations.”
Strike three. Or had his dad maybe shown just the tiniest bit of interest?
Probably strike three. But Mark had to hold on to any chance of hope. His dad had asked him what he did at work. That was surely a move in the right direction.
His next move?
With nowhere to be, nothing to do, he’d go stir-crazy. Maybe he should put himself out into the community. Try to get reacquainted with old friends.
But what friends? Miss Ann?
Phil said she liked to spend time at the coffee shop, and he never had made it there after he ran into Becca yesterday. A visit with Ann might be nice—especially since she seemed to be the only person in town happy to see him.
Before heading that direction, he crossed the street and sat on a bench outside the courthouse. Though he was supposed to be on vacation, he had to check in. He would read his email. Then head over for that cup of decaf.
Hannah stepped into Faith’s Coffee Time Café. The checkered floor gave it the feel of an old-timey ice-cream shop or diner. Tables with vases of cheery, fresh flowers and a grouping of comfy chairs made it welcoming. But, as usual, she felt out of place. She wasn’t a coffee drinker. Though they
served other beverages, she couldn’t afford the splurge. The only time she went to the shop was to order food for bank events.
But this morning, she had ulterior motives.
A reconnaissance mission. To find out if Mark had left town as she hoped.
A very pregnant Faith stepped out from behind the counter rubbing her lower back. She was probably hitting an uncomfortable stage with the baby, but she glowed with happiness. “Hi, Hannah. Do you need to place an order for the bank?”
“No, actually, uh…I’m here on my break. I’ll try some of your hot green tea.” She scanned the crowded dining room and hit pay dirt.
Ann Sealy sat at a table with her friend Jeannie, writing something in a notebook. If anyone knew the happenings in town, it would be Miss Ann. Everyone knew and loved her. And more importantly, they confided in her.
Hannah paid for the hot tea, thanked Faith, then worked her way to the little square table holding a big Bible and the kindest person Hannah knew.
“Oh, Hannah, have a seat and join us,” she said in her soprano, slightly raspy, slow drawl.
“Yes, please do,” Jeannie said.
Hannah nodded at the open Bible. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
“I’ve been done with my reading for a while. We’ve just been visiting and sharing prayer requests.”
Unsure of how to jump in without sounding nosy, Hannah sat and smiled. If only Ann knew why Hannah had a stake in Mark’s presence, then she—
“So what brings you by today?” Ann asked.
“Well, I wondered—”
“Ann, Jeannie!” Olivia, one of the youth’s parents from the church, brushed her windblown brown hair off her face and waved madly as the front door clanged shut. “Faith, I’ll have my usual,” she called as she hurried over to the table.
“Oh, hello, Hannah.” Olivia plopped down on a chair. “You won’t believe what I just heard while I was over at Redd’s.”
A House Full of Hope Page 5