Ellie recoiled like she’d been punched. Dan turned. Eyebrows drawn, one hand white-knuckling the doorknob, Guthrie Jones stood in the open doorway. His expression told Ellie he’d seen the kiss and wasn’t thrilled. The man always reminded her of a darker version of Greg Kinnear, unexpected and eager, a smile on his face. But this version didn’t resemble the firefighter who more than once had sat in her office and quizzed her about firefighting tactics. She’d thought it endearing, even encouraging.
Now a chill ran through her. “Can I help you, Guthrie?
“No. I guess not.” He shot a death-ray look at Dan, then glanced back at Ellie. “I just wanted to see if you were free.”
“Sure.” Ellie leaned back, hoping Dan would sit down and pretend that no, the air didn’t sizzle with both guilt and not a little frustration.
“No, that’s okay.” Guthrie’s gaze felt like a thousand needles on her skin. “I see you have more important things to do.” He nearly slammed the door.
Ellie froze in her chair.
Dan stared at the closed door. “So much for keeping this thing quiet.”
God picked the right day to give Deep Haven a taste of Indian summer—a stretch of warmth on the far edge of October that had everyone basking in the memory of lazy summer days. Only a light breeze rustled the leaves bejeweling the parking lot as Dan stood in the vestibule of the church, the door open to let in the warm air. He stood slightly behind the Jones family—Cindy’s widowed mother and a very distraught Guthrie, who had spent most of the service rocking in his pew—to lend support and accept condolences while the congregation filed out to accompany the casket to the cemetery.
Dan watched out of the corner of his eye as Joe and Mona herded Jordan, Jeffrey, and a squirming Angelica out of the service. Second-degree burns on the little boys’ legs and lungs had healed, and Doc Simpson had whispered in Dan’s ear their readiness for discharge. Dan hoped by asking Joe and Mona to babysit today, it would pave the path for the question that had him on his knees through the night.
They’d make wonderful parents.
Please, Lord. He took a deep breath and forced out another smile when Edith Draper stepped up to him. “Nice job, Pastor,” she said in her usual cheery, frank tone. “By the way, I was in Duluth this week, and I picked up some supplies for Anne and Noah’s reception. I put them in your office since I couldn’t find you yesterday to unlock the kitchen.”
Dan didn’t rise to the unspoken question in her breezy tone nor the twinkle in her eye. He could spot a fishing trip when he saw one. “Thank you, Edith. I’ll be sure and deliver it. Although Bonnie should have keys—she’s on the hospitality committee, and they were setting up the funeral reception today.”
She gave a flustered smile. “Of course. I’ll talk to Bonnie.” He didn’t miss the wink she gave him as she trotted out to her car. Deep Haven’s matchmaker.
Or perhaps that title belonged to Liza, who followed Edith’s spot in line and didn’t even bother to skirt the topic. “So, did you see Ellie today?”
“Nice singing today, Liza,” he said in reply, commenting on her beautiful rendition of “It Is Well with My Soul.” The last thing he needed was to entangle himself further into Liza’s matchmaking efforts. Only, how could he not spot Ellie in that two-piece navy suit? He supposed she hoped to snuff out any hint of weakness and femininity. A work suit. Too bad it only turned her eyes into a knee-weakening blue.
“Are you going to bring her to Noah and Anne’s wedding?” Liza pressed on, raising an eyebrow. He had the uncomfortable sense of being a piece of clay on her potter’s wheel.
“Uh, I hadn’t thought of it.” He groaned inwardly at how easily he folded to Liza’s prodding.
“Hmm.” It was what she didn’t say that made him shift uncomfortably.
“Do you think I should?” Oh, that sounded so . . . desperate. The last thing he wanted was Liza managing his romance. Then again, she and Ellie were getting fairly tight. Maybe he should listen to her advice. He worked up a smile.
“Oh yeah, Preach. A good wedding gets under a woman’s skin.” Liza nodded, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Take her to the wedding.”
Dan nodded, suddenly enjoying Liza’s teasing. The thought of Ellie on his arm made him tingle. He could get used to having his name linked with hers, knowing that at the end of the day she came home to him. He could make her dinner and listen to her as she talked about—
Firefighting? Her latest dangerous escapade?
His smile fell. Okay, so maybe theirs wasn’t a match made in heaven. Yet. But for the right man, perhaps in time she’d give it up. However, that’s what he’d thought about Charlene. But hadn’t he told Ellie he had been wrong? that her profession didn’t matter?
He shook Craig Boberg’s hand, forming a smile, but inside he felt uneasiness rubbing against the soft edges of his heart.
It didn’t matter. Really. He’d made that decision the second he took Ellie in his arms. She may not have told him she loved him, but her response spoke volumes. He didn’t have to love her job, but a future with Ellie was worth falling to his knees in prayer every time she got a call.
Dan walked into the vestibule, where Joe stood with Mona, the baby, and the boys. Dan bent and shook Jordan’s hand, then gave Jeffrey’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You boys know your mama loved you, right? And that she’s with Jesus?”
They nodded, and their solemn expressions knocked him back on his heels with a fresh wave of grief. These boys deserved a loving mother like Cindy. They deserved a father who cared enough to teach them to be men of God. Dan stood and looked at Joe and Mona and felt his throat thicken. “Do you suppose that after the interment, I might have a word with both of you?” He ran his hand over baby Angelica’s head as it bobbed on weak neck muscles. She smiled—a toothless, innocent toddler grin.
Mona tucked the child’s head into her shoulder and nodded.
The late afternoon graced them with fragments of sunshine between gray clouds while they laid Cindy Simmons to rest beside her husband. Dan had debated that decision, but Marilyn Jones, Cindy’s mother, insisted that Cindy would stick by her husband even in death.
“She ran a good race,” she said to Dan as the guests departed, some for home, others to the reception at Grace Church. “She trusted in God ’til the end.”
Dan embraced the frail woman, touched by her faith. “Yes, she did. Even when Leo served his time, even after Angelica’s birth, she trusted in God’s strength to get her through each day.”
Marilyn nodded, her hazel eyes so much like Cindy’s, always glowing with hope. She’d aged a decade since her husband’s death to cancer five years earlier. Her gaunt face betrayed long days and the ever present worry about Guthrie’s dangerous profession. But she modeled a faith that tugged at Dan’s soul. “My daughter won’t be forgotten, not on earth—”
“Nor in heaven. I am sure God welcomed her with ‘Well done, good and faithful servant.’ ”
Tears edged down Marilyn’s wrinkled cheeks. “Thanks, Pastor. I needed that.”
She moved away, and Dan wondered for a moment how he’d come up with those words. But he hadn’t thought them—he’d felt them. Perhaps that made the difference.
The murmur of somber voices emanating from the church basement told Dan that most of his congregation had beat him back to the church. He went into his office, took off his suit coat, and draped it over a pile of boxes that sat in the corner. Reading the labels on the sides . . . napkins, candles, tablecloths, a small box that had warning on the front of it snagged his attention. Dan opened it and found a box of Sterno canisters, used for keeping food hot while it was served. The hospitality committee certainly covered all their bases.
Closing his door, he prayed that Mona and Joe were downstairs, enjoying being parents for the day.
The hospitality committee had scrambled their resources and put out a buffet to rival Smoky Joe’s. Potato salads, baked beans, sloppy joes, and fruit salads. In the middle of
the table a basket of white lilies, snapdragons, and gladiolas gave the room an aura of hope. Of heaven. Just what Cindy would have wanted. Dan spotted Joe heading to a round table, three cups of punch in his hands. Dan caught his eye and waved him over.
Joe delivered the drinks, then skirted the tables and followed Dan back into the hallway, where the din subsided. “How are you doing?” Dan asked.
“Good. I’m hurting for those boys, though. They have a rough road ahead of them.”
Dan nodded. Now that he’d screwed up his courage, he wasn’t sure where to start. “I’ve been praying for quite a while about what to do about the kids, and I’m wondering if . . . well . . .” When he looked up, the concern in Joe’s face bolstered his words. “. . . if you and Mona would consider adopting them.”
Joe’s jaw didn’t actually drop, but he looked at Dan with such a stunned expression it didn’t have to. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. I can’t think of a better couple to raise these youngsters. Especially Angelica. They need to stay together, and you and Mona would be great parents.”
Joe moved out of the way to let Guthrie pass him into the men’s bathroom. “I don’t know. I mean, yes, we’d like to be parents someday. But Mona’s still grieving. She’s not ready to try again.” His face twisted.
“I understand. The thing is, I already talked to social services, and they’re willing to approve you as temporary foster parents until you get your paperwork finished. You could take the kids home today.”
“Today?” Joe’s expression hinted at fear. “Wait—”
“You don’t have to make a permanent decision today. I just hate to take them back to the hospital.”
“You didn’t find anyone else to watch them?”
Dan shook his head. “Marilyn is too weak, and her siblings are gone. We’d have to move them to Duluth into their social-services department and hope they could find a way to keep them together.”
“They’d never see each other again.” Joe folded his arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall. “We do have an extra bedroom. I could move out my computer.”
“I could commandeer a crib from the church nursery.”
“I’ll ask Mona.” A smile tipped his lips. “In the short term, I think we could work it out.”
“God bless you, Joe. Thank you.”
“I think we’re the ones getting the blessing here.” Joe took a deep breath, nodded. “And we’ll pray about the long term.” He clenched his jaw, as if to force back the swell of emotion. “Thanks for asking, Dan.”
20
Ellie raised her face to the sky and gazed at the periwinkle clouds, fat with precipitation, letting the waning hint of summer soothe the ragged edges of her sorrow. Burying victims had never come easily—the fact that the woman had been the mother of three young children sliced deep. Franklin nosed around the beach as if searching for exactly the right nook to do his business.
Ellie crossed her arms and sat on a large boulder, watching the seagulls as they scrutinized Franklin’s movements. When their beady eyes settled on him, they’d cry out, lift into the air, and resettle themselves on the waves, where they scolded him from a distance, riding the swells with regal disdain. Thunder rumbled through the mottled sky.
Cindy Simmons had left her mark on the world, as evidenced by the closed businesses on Main Street and the line of cars that had exited the church parking lot and followed the hearse to the cemetery three miles up the Gunflint Trail.
Ellie had lingered at the edge of the crowd, not wanting to intrude, hoping to pay her respects, mostly doing her duty as the town fire chief. A few had acknowledged her: John Benson, Ruth Schultz, Craig and his wife. She’d made eye contact with Dan more than once, and the grief in his eyes felt like a seeping wound.
“C’mon, Frankie, hurry up.” She clapped her hands, the urge to return to the church nipping at her. Dan looked painfully wrung out, and she wanted to shed the fire chief attire, don her jeans, and just hold his hand while they walked along the beach. She couldn’t erase the sorrow, but she longed to help carry it.
On days like this afternoon, as the slight wind carried the breath of autumn around the mourners, she wished she had a different job. One minus the loss of life but with the joy of service.
Joy? She huffed a disbelieving laugh. She hadn’t felt real joy in her job since . . . well, never. Firefighting wasn’t something she chose . . . it chose her. Her debts compelled her into service. Not to atone but to give Seth’s death significance. Dan’s eulogy tumbled through her mind, along with the verses he read in Philippians 3: “I am focusing all my energies on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I strain to reach the end of the race and receive the prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us up to heaven.”
Cindy Simmons had run well and long. She’d won her prize and left behind fans and an imprint in the community. Children and family who loved her. Ellie pushed the toe of her pump through the stones. If she were to die today, what would she leave?
Nothing but a fat basset hound and a trail of moments she hoped counted in her favor in God’s tally book. He couldn’t deny that she’d tried. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if all her hard work in this life had accomplished exactly nil. She’d have a sum total of two at her funeral. Her parents, burying the last of their children.
What had Cindy done that left an entire town grieving her loss? Ellie mentally cataloged the speakers from today’s service. The choir director, a Sunday school teacher, Cindy’s mother. All relating stories about Cindy’s love for her family, her church, her community.
Perhaps it wasn’t so much what she did as how.
“Lord,” Ellie said, lifting her eyes to the horizon, where the sun sizzled and a magenta canopy bled into darkness, “You know I came here wanting to make a difference. I wanted to serve You in Seth’s place. But I feel like I’ve been running in place? I’ve done nothing but stir up a strong wind. I want to make a difference in this life. In this town. Please, show me how.”
The waves washed the shore. Seagulls cried, the dog snuffed at her feet. Ellie closed her eyes, still for what seemed like the first time in weeks—no, months, even years.
Abide.
She opened her eyes, even looked behind her, wondering if perhaps someone had spoken it aloud. Abide. She frowned as familiar words flooded her mind: “Those who remain in Me, and I in them, will produce much fruit. For apart from Me you can do nothing.” Dan’s sermon. It had bothered her before. It didn’t feel any safer now.
If she didn’t abide in God’s love, did it mean her hard work meant nothing?
Certainly God didn’t discount the thousands of lives touched by people, such as herself, who reached out simply because they wanted to change the fabric of life? If she didn’t do it while in the embrace of the Almighty, did that mean she added nothing to her spiritual bank account?
Or rather, perhaps it meant that if she didn’t abide, she missed out on the joy. She again recalled Liza’s words about our works on earth being something that drew us closer to God. Could it be that abiding made the work—any work—meaningful? Even if it was washing dinner dishes after Wednesday night prayer meeting or serving on nursery duty.
The entire concept twisted her brain, and in her distraught condition it made her feel about three million years old. She kneaded away a pulsing headache with her fingers.
Maybe her problem wasn’t so much lack of abiding but wondering if she was good enough for God’s attention in the first place.
Franklin plodded over, spilling rocks, an apple core in his mouth. “Oh, gross. Give me that.” Ellie pried it out of his mouth, made a face, and pitched it into a nearby trash can. “That’s it. We’re outta here.” She snapped on his lead and trekked back to the fire station. The hotel desk clerk’s patience had started to wear thin so she’d had to keep Franklin holed up in her office. A few more weeks and she’d know if she was going to be looking for rental housing or
packing her Jeep.
It felt like an eternity.
Or way too soon to say good-bye. She wanted to belong here. To stand by Dan’s side at the back of the church and invest in the lives of his congregation. The urge to be a pastor’s wife didn’t push her to her knees at night in desperate petition, but perhaps then she’d find that tendril of joy that seemed elusive in her lifelong profession.
Or maybe she’d find true love. Maybe being in Dan’s arms would give her the peace that seemed slightly out of reach.
She should stop fighting. Tell the guy she loved him. She certainly acted that way, kissing him without declaring her heart. Her mother would be aghast at her behavior. Well, she was aghast. In truth, she ached to tell the man she loved him, but she hoped he could see through her to her heart. Dan seemed to know her every other thought. He knew when to hold her hand, when to stop her in midsentence and tell her to slow down.
No one but Dan could drive her to her last nerve one second and make her laugh the next. Could move her to tears and make her feel like only she could unlock the sunshine. That somehow she was a part of the oxygen in his every breath.
Not even Seth.
Oh, I wish you could know him, Seth, she thought as she let herself into the quiet-as-a-tomb firehouse. She’d approved Simon’s and Ernie’s requests to attend the funeral, but it seemed odd they hadn’t returned yet. She’d track them down at the church and give them her fire chief nudge.
She changed into her flats and put on a pair of dress pants she kept in her office closet. Tucking in her blouse, she grabbed her jacket and her keys and headed back to the church, hoping for time with Dan.
Maybe tonight she’d tell him she loved him. Throw her future to the wind and embrace the moment.
To her dismay, cars still overflowed the parking lot, but she found a spot at the far end. Rain spat on her as she ran for the church. She heard the murmur of voices downstairs—obviously the reception was still in full attendance. She felt and looked like a drenched hamster. She’d simply wait for Dan in his office. She’d done that once before after work—he’d sent her there while he met with the worship team.
Deep Haven [03] The Perfect Match Page 22