by Hope Ramsay
“Oh, honey,” Patsy said in a sympathetic tone, “all that work and here you are at church?” Her eyebrow arched.
Jenna laughed in spite of herself. She hadn’t come here for spiritual guidance. She’d come for this conversation and later to sneak off for a visit to her father’s grave. And yet…
Funny how the universe worked sometimes.
“I know,” Jenna said. “I could have saved myself a year of searching.”
Patsy laughed. “I don’t believe for one moment that’s true.”
“Well, maybe not. But I liked Reverend St. Pierre’s sermon today.”
Just then two of the women came over, coffee cups in hand. “Well, that’s the first time in ages we’ve finished before eleven o’clock. You think that’s the way it’s always going to be?” one of them said.
“And it was refreshing to have a sermon about love. I can’t remember the last time one of our substitute ministers preached about that,” the second woman said.
“Ladies,” Patsy said, “I’d like you to meet Jenna Fairchild. Jenna, meet Sandra Jernigan and Nancy Jacobs. They’re longtime members of the Piece Makers.” Patsy gestured toward each of the women as she introduced them. Sandra’s hair was a beauty-parlor red and cut into a short, curly bob. She had smiling blue eyes and wore way too much makeup. Nancy Jacobs was a tall, thin woman, easily five foot ten. She towered over the rest of them and wore her graying brown hair in a Dutch-boy cut with a fringe of bangs across her brow.
“It’s nice to meet you. I was so impressed by the quilt you were making the other day,” Jenna said.
“I’m sure y’all heard how Jenna helped out at the vicarage on Monday.”
“That was nice of you,” Nancy said in a voice so soft it was almost hard to hear her in the noisy fellowship hall.
“Are you really interested in learning how to quilt?” Sandra asked. “I was there the other night when you dropped in on us. I heard you wanted to learn how.”
“Ladies,” Patsy said, “Louella told me that Jenna went down to A Stitch in Time asking about quilting lessons.” The older woman smiled like the cat who had swallowed the canary as she pierced Jenna with a sharp, blue-eyed stare. “Reckon you didn’t realize that her lessons were about piecing the quilt top and not about the actual hand quilting itself.”
Jenna shook her head. “No, I didn’t. But that’s okay. Louella fixed me up with a learn-to-knit package. I think she may have turned me into a knitter. It’s very Zen, isn’t it?”
“Not as much as quilting,” Patsy said. “So, are you still interested in learning?”
Was she? Yes. More than she’d been before Louella had introduced her to knitting. And, of course, she’d love to spend a Thursday night with the Piece Makers, especially Patsy. “I am still interested,” she said.
“What do you say, ladies?” Patsy asked. “Shall we let her sit in on Thursday?”
They nodded their heads, and Patsy turned with a smile. “Come on by, and we’ll give you a lesson. It’s the least we can do for someone trying to find themselves by climbing up Chinese mountains.”
Jenna chatted with Patsy and the other members of the Piece Makers for about ten minutes before people started drifting away, one by one. Now was the time for her to escape before she wore out her welcome.
She excused herself and headed out under the live oaks and pines in the churchyard, where an old, much-painted chain-link fence ringed a cemetery adjacent to the church. Like the churchyard, the hallowed ground was so sandy that only scrub grass grew here. At the center of the graveyard stood a collection of crooked headstones with writing that had been washed away by the ages. Clearly, the people of Jonquil Island had been burying their dead here for generations.
There were a lot of Howlands buried in this earth and a fair number of Martins too. But only one Bauman, set off in a corner. A fresh bouquet of out-of-season daffodils had been laid against the grave marker, no doubt by Patsy herself.
She stood for a long, solemn moment staring at the name: James Arthur Bauman. His birth and death dates were marked in granite, and she waited for the urge to speak to him, but it never came. He wasn’t here. Maybe his bones were, but not his spirit. She almost laughed. Her Hindu friends would be happy about the absence of a spirit here. It meant Jamie had moved on to another life. Spirits who stayed around were usually bound by terrible karma that made it difficult for them to move into the next life. She hoped her father’s next life was better than this one had been.
She was about to leave when Micah St. Pierre showed up. He’d ditched the priestly robes and wore a pair of relaxed-fit jeans and a dark T-shirt. “It’s a pretty place,” he said in his low baritone.
She let go of the breath she’d been holding for ages. “It is.”
“I heard from someone who heard from someone that you visited Mount Emei.”
She turned away from her father’s grave. “I did.”
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? With the clouds above and below. Did you see the sun rise?”
She smiled. “I did. It was unearthly.”
He nodded, his eyes flicking to the grave and back. Had Jude told him the truth? She didn’t think so. Jude was the kind of man who took his promises seriously. It was one of his admirable qualities.
“So, I was wondering,” she started, “if I could ask a favor.”
“It depends on the favor.”
“This one has to do with investing in love. Of putting a treasure to good use to reap rewards that might not be entirely monetary but perhaps more in line with good karma.”
A slow smile curled his mouth. “Then I’d be happy to help in any way I can.”
On Monday morning, as Ashley was walking back from Jackie’s bus stop, two St. Pierre Construction vans pulled into her home’s circular drive. She stood there for a moment, panicking.
Had Colton St. Pierre misunderstood her? She hadn’t confirmed that she was ready to have the roof repaired. Had she?
No. She hadn’t. She’d told him that she would give him a call. Which, of course, she had no intention of doing. Instead, she’d planned to call Bobby Don Ayers down at Berkshire Hathaway and start the process of putting Howland House and Rose Cottage up for sale. Mom and Dad were foursquare behind this decision. And if all went well, she’d be in Kansas by Christmas.
She walked up the drive just as Colton arrived in his big silver Dodge Ram pickup. He hopped out of the truck, wearing his usual uniform of work pants, a maroon St. Pierre Construction golf shirt, and steel-toed boots. With his dark hair, dark eyes, and dark skin, he was like an HGTV casting director’s dream.
He was handsome, all right. Heck, all the St. Pierres were handsome. But Ashley’s heart belonged elsewhere.
She walked up to him. “Um, Colton…uh, why—”
“It’s taken care of,” he said.
“What? I—”
“Micah called yesterday and told me to fix your roof as soon as possible. We had a day available to do the work. So here we are.”
Ashley hadn’t been born yesterday. Colton didn’t have any available days. He was scheduled out until December probably. If he was here fixing her roof, then he’d dropped some other job for someone else, and all because Micah had asked. She shook her head. “No. You can’t—”
“Oh yes, I can. And by the way, as far as I’m concerned, this is not charity. I’ve been paid in full. No discounts. And I get a bonus if I get it done in the next two days. So that’s what I’m going to do, Ms. Scott.” He bobbed his head and turned away, issuing orders to his crew.
What the heck? She didn’t know whether to be angry or relieved. She needed the roof repaired, but she didn’t want to be anyone’s charity case. She could almost hear Adam’s voice in her head, telling her that this had to be stopped. That she would be bound to the church forever if she allowed the minister to swoop in and start fixing things.
She marched around the side yard and through the rose garden. Jenna Fairchild was on the porch, eyes closed,
meditating, so Ashley kept her anger in check. No swearing out loud within the hearing of guests. It was an iron-fast rule.
But when she hit the sidewalk, she let the expletives fly. If the other Piece Makers had been in range, they might have all fainted dead away or even kicked her out of the club. Now, there was an idea.
But she reined herself in. For Adam’s and Jackie’s sake, if not for her own. She knocked on the vicarage door and waited. And waited. And waited some more.
Crap. He wasn’t home.
She knocked again, folding her arms across her chest to keep from shaking.
The door finally opened to reveal Reverend St. Pierre, wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of red plaid flannel pj bottoms. His face looked as if he’d had a boxing match with his pillow.
He’d been asleep? She checked her watch. It was eight o’clock. She’d been up for hours already.
She stood there hugging herself, trying to decide if she should let him have it or apologize.
“Good morning,” he said in a sleep-roughened voice that awakened something deep inside her. Say what? No. She hugged herself harder and let fly. “Where the hell do you get off meddling in my life?”
“What?”
“You heard me. Your brother and six other big guys are across the street putting a new roof on my house. I know how much that costs. And I can’t afford it. Even more important, I can’t afford for you to pay for it. Can you imagine the gossip? I mean, you know how this town is. You can’t be doing that. And besides, I don’t want your pity or your…whatever.”
She waved her hands and continued to vent at him for several minutes, while he leaned against the doorframe, yawning and stretching.
“Are you done?” he asked calmly when she finally ran out of steam.
She nodded as unwanted heat crawled up her face.
“First of all, I didn’t pay for your roof.”
“But Colton said—”
“I am the one who called Colton to find out how much it cost. And I am the one who delivered the check to pay for it. But the check wasn’t drawn on my pitiful checking account. Are you kidding? You sit on the church board. You know my salary.” He smiled. It was a nice smile.
“But…then who?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“But…”
His smile broadened. “All I can say is that someone was moved by my sermon yesterday.”
“You’re joking.”
He shook his head. “I know. Kind of amazing for a guy who hasn’t sermonized in a long while.” He seemed pleased with himself.
“Really? Why is that?”
“Because I didn’t officiate at services at my last duty station. I spent most of my time holding hands.”
“Holding…what?”
He pushed away from the doorframe, his gaze as sobering as black coffee. “I was stationed with the First Marines Division in San Diego. I was on notification duty. So you can imagine how pleased I am that my first sermon in a long while moved someone to undertake a selfless act of love.”
“What? No. Who did this?”
“That’s the point, Ashley. Your benefactor does not wish to be named. In fact, the person told me the money is an investment. Like in the parable we studied yesterday.”
Chapter Seventeen
After the crap storm that had hit his life last week, something had changed for Jude. If he believed in luck, he’d say that his luck had changed.
Daddy had been sober for four solid days. And thank goodness for that because on Friday Jude had gotten so tangled up in a combination of fear and lust that he’d completely forgotten about their morning charter. And they’d had charters on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday as well. And then on Tuesday they got a call for another Friday charter and two more requests they couldn’t fill for Saturday because they were already booked.
It was like a sudden breath of fresh air and totally unexpected in September, when business should be winding down.
The weekend fishing trips went off without any mishap or boat issues. Daddy charmed the clients with his salty fishing tales and his knowledge of the fishing spots around the bay and out in the Atlantic. The clients left with smiles and photos of their catches.
The charters also kept Jude away from Jenna during the day. The need to keep an eye on Daddy’s sobriety, along with a good old-fashioned dose of fear, kept him away from her during the evenings. Of course, staying away didn’t stop him from thinking about her naked every five minutes. But thinking wasn’t the same as doing.
But then Wednesday rolled around. And they almost never had charters on Wednesdays except in the high season or during spring break. So he planned to sleep in on Wednesday.
But Jenna, clearly a woman on a mission, wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easy. She called him in the early hours of the morning, awakening him from a sexy dream about her. He groped for his phone and hit the talk button before he was fully awake; otherwise he would have probably let it go to voice mail. “Yeah?” he muttered.
“Wake up, sleepyhead. It’s going to be a nice day, according to the weatherman.” Her voice was as sweet as honey. Or maybe as sweet as hidden poison. He didn’t know which. But just the sound of her made him wake up…all the way.
“Have you any idea how early it is?” he asked, reaching for annoyance and discovering that he was happy she’d called. Damn.
“Uh. Um. Sorry. I get up before dawn. I forget sometimes that others don’t. But still, it’s a nice day.”
“And?”
“Perfect for a sail out to the inlet.”
He let go of a breath. She wasn’t going to give up on this crazy idea, was she? “I told you I didn’t—”
“I know. But I’m determined to talk you into it.” Her voice was so sultry he had no doubt that she would talk him into it eventually.
“I’d offer money,” she continued, “but you’d refuse it and call me trust fund girl, which I hate. So I’m going to appeal to your vanity as a sailor. I’m sure you can get us there and back in one piece.”
It was futile to argue. She was like a siren singing him to his doom. And at least one part of him was happy to go there to die.
“Hang on. Let me check the tides.” He brought up the tides and the weather forecast on his iPhone. Damn. She was right. It was a nice day. With light winds and tides that would be perfect for a sail out to the inlet. He checked the extended forecast. That was a little more iffy. If they were going to do this, they needed to do it in the morning.
He returned to his phone app. “Look, Jenna, sailing out there is risky.”
“I know. But sometimes you have to take risks.”
It was like she was talking to him in code. Was she talking about the manageable risk of sailing out to the inlet, or the unpredictable risk of allowing himself to fall in love with her and try to build a relationship? Yeah, that was risky all right.
“You know,” he said, “you aren’t going to learn anything by going out there.”
“No?”
“No. I can tell you what happened to your father. It’s not hard to guess. Independence got knocked over by a gust or swamped by a rogue wave. Or maybe he just fell out of the boat like I did, but he wasn’t wearing a PFD. There’s no point in—”
“I’m not going out there to discover what happened, Jude. I’m going out there to connect with him.”
“What?”
“I know it sounds crazy. But I have this feeling his spirit is out there. Restless. Like he’s been unable to move on to his next life.”
“Wow. You really are into all that woo-woo stuff.”
“It’s no stranger than Christianity and the whole Communion thing. And I’ll bet your root doctors have some interesting beliefs too.”
“Okay, okay. I guess I just showed my cultural bias.”
“You did. But I won’t hold it against you. So, will you take me?”
“Why do you think your father is out there?”
“You’d laug
h if I told you.”
“I promise I won’t laugh.”
“I’ve been having dreams about the inlet. Every night the same one. About a boat breaking up. And I don’t know if I’m dreaming about Captain Bill’s ill-fated pirate ship or my father’s little sailing dinghy. I need to go out there.”
His Old Granny, who had deeply believed in root doctors and Hoodoo, would have said that Jenna was messing with a powerful haunt, and he should do what she asks because it might help the spirit cross over. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but his Old Granny had. And he felt her presence at that moment.
“Okay. I give up. Meet me at the dry dock in half an hour.”
Before they left the dock, Jude wrote out a message on a piece of notepaper outlining their planned sailing route and tucked it under the windshield wiper on the driver’s side of his old F-150. It chilled Jenna to the bone when he locked gazes with her and said, “If Jamie had done this, it might have saved his life. No one realized he was missing for almost twenty-four hours.”
“You think he went to the inlet on purpose?” she asked, her heart thumping in her chest.
Jude shook his head. “I don’t know why anyone would do something like that in a small sailboat. I don’t even know why we’re doing it. I personally think we should ditch the inlet idea and practice sailing with a spinnaker. The winds this morning are light but steady. Perfect for teaching you how to manage the big sail.”
“I told you. I need to go.”
He nodded and didn’t argue any further.
They put Bonney Rose in the water and sailed past the marina. As they passed by, Jude pointed out a large fishing boat. “That’s Reel Therapy, in case you’re interested.”
She studied the boat. It was more than twice as long as Bonney Rose, and its flying bridge made it seem impossibly tall in the water. It sparkled in the sunlight, and like Bonney Rose, it was in pristine condition.
But even someone as ignorant about boats as Jenna could see that Reel Therapy was older than most of the boats around her. And there were so many other fishing boats.