Sophie stared at the photo for several minutes, introspective. Reaching out for life. That’s me, she thought—I’m as poor as that girl. Lord, help me reach out for the life You give.
As Jon walked back over to take the roasted seeds out of the oven, Sophie scanned the rest of the wall.
“This is so cool!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been here, to the Leaning Tower, and isn’t the David statue incredible?”
Jon nodded in agreement. “I’d say it has to be one of the most perfect man-made objects in the world.”
There were photos of more famous things, like the Parthenon, the Eiffel Tower, and Big Ben, and then there were mountains—presumably the Alps—a waterfall, and a Norman tower Sophie didn’t recognize.
“The waterfall is Thomson’s Falls in Kenya,” Jon clarified. “I hiked down to the foot of it to take that picture. And that tower is where the poet Yeats lived and did much of his writing. It’s from the thirteenth century.”
“‘Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold….’” Sophie quoted Yeats’s famous poem. “My mother and Granny are over in Ireland right now. I bet they saw this when they went to Yeats’s country.”
“You know why I had to go there?” Jon queried her. “I had to see the Lake Isle of Innisfree. Turns out it is just this tiny, unimpressive little island in the middle of a lake—it looks like some of the brushy sandbars we have here in the river. But that poem has some of my favorite lines in all of literature.”
“Which ones?” Sophie asked. “Oh—oh—I bet I know: ‘I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray, I hear it in the deep heart’s core.’”
“How did you know?” Jon’s eyes were twinkling.
“They’re some of my favorites too. I feel that way about home—the river. It’s who I am. I guess that’s why I had to come back after being gone so long. It was always in my ‘deep heart’s core.’”
“You’re just as big a nerd as I am!” Jon declared, gently thumping her on the arm.
“Well, then, we’re in good company!”
* * * * *
They made their way back to the kitchen, where Jon heated some apple cider and Sophie poured the warm seeds into a bowl. The sight of her doing something so simple there in his kitchen sent an electric current through his veins.
“Want to go back out on the deck?”
“That would be great,” said Sophie, and she opened the French door for him to go through with the mugs of cider.
He set them down on the little table between his two Adirondack chairs and motioned for her to sit while he went back inside to get a soft chenille afghan for Sophie. The evening air was getting chilly.
“I guess we’re going to need two bowls for these seeds,” she said reluctantly.
Instead, Jon moved his chair right beside hers and set his cider down on the deck beside his chair, leaving hers on the table where she could easily reach.
They sat crunching seeds and listening to the evening. Crickets chirped, leaves rustled, a squirrel played along the railing of the deck farther down. A chipmunk came up from one of the holes cut for the oak trees, gathering seeds that had fallen from one of the feeders.
Sophie gasped, pointing to it, and Jon was delighted.
At another feeder, there were gold finches with their dazzling yellow plumage, Carolina chickadees, and a male cardinal.
“No wonder you never want to leave here,” Sophie whispered to Jon, so as not to disturb the animals.
Jon smiled at her and struggled to remain focused on the scenery. She was almost too near. His eyes lingered over her profile as she watched the birds—the high forehead, the long eyelashes, the slightly upturned nose, and the full lips. He could smell the light freshness of her perfume and feel the warmth of her hand as it met his in the bowl of pumpkin seeds.
It was so easy, now that she had been here and shared his home—and had such an overwhelming response to it—for Jon to want more. He wanted to touch her, to kiss her, to keep her here always. To sit in these chairs with her and watch the seasons change. But Jon stopped himself.
In silent prayer Jon willed himself to want one thing—the will of God—above everything else. He mustn’t rush things. He must be patient. He knew she needed time. And he knew if anything was ever to happen between him and Sophie, it would be in God’s time, His way.
Jon rose and walked over to the railing.
“Look, Sophie, there’s a barge!”
She put down the bowl of seeds, and wrapping the afghan around herself like a shawl, came up beside him to see.
They counted, “One, two, three, four, five…” all the way to ten. The tugboat was pushing ten barges joined together and moving down the river.
Just then, as if on cue, a train whistled and drew their attention to the tiny tracks on the other side of the river.
“This place is an endless feast!” Sophie declared. “I’m glad you brought me here to see it.”
“I’m glad you came.” Jon looked at her tenderly. “But as much as I hate to, I think I should get you home.” Before I lose it, he mentally added.
* * * * *
They drove back to the Harbor House with the cover on the Jeep since the temperature had changed. Jon started unloading the pumpkins, carrying them to the front, while Sophie went to let Spot out the back.
Spot was dancing his greeting when Sophie opened the door, and while she sat down on the back stoop to pet him, he immediately sniffed her from head to toe, discerning the new scent of Aslan on his master. She rubbed him all over and kissed his nose.
Jon finished with the pumpkins and came around back to wait with her while Spot ran around the yard doing his business. They sat comfortably together on the stoop.
“What have you got going this week?” she asked him.
“Writing,” he said, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing his boots. “What about you? Is it a busy week?”
“I never know. I just kind of have to go with the flow.” Sophie smiled at him and kicked her boots back and forth like a little kid.
“Maybe we could get together again sometime soon…”
“I’d like that.” She actually loved the idea but appreciated the fact that Jon was not pushy.
Spot returned to the porch, and Jon stood, offering Sophie his hand to help her up. He squeezed her hand for just a moment, looking down at their hands, and said good-bye.
Sophie turned to go in and waved to Jon, who started his Jeep as she shut the door behind her.
Spot’s toenails clicked on the floor in a happy little gait, making their way into the kitchen where she washed her hands and threw on a clean apron. He lay down on the rug and watched her.
As Sophie prepared her cheesecakes, her mind kept wandering over the particulars of the afternoon with Jon. Like a scientist, she examined it—taking pleasure in each remembrance, from the magnitude of the view from the bluff, to the minutia of the cinnamon stick in her cider. She liked Jon; that was sure. He intrigued her as much as he comforted her with his old, familiar kindness. But did he like her for anything more than a friend? Did she really want him to?
She’d never dated anyone who hadn’t tried to kiss her by the second date. Certainly not Stephen, who kissed her the day they met. Sophie rolled her eyes at the memory.
Maybe these weren’t dates she and Jon were having. After all, they were the same types of things they’d done as friends. Going up to St. Catherine’s, getting cokes at the Dairy, even stuff like carving pumpkins. Still, something was different. Surely it wasn’t all her imagination? Or was it different only for her?
Sophie worked herself into such a dither over these questions that she put Amaretto in the turtle cheesecake and topped the plain cheesecake with the chocolate and caramel intended for the turtle. Oh brother, she thought, covering them and placing them in the refrigerator. I hope no one notices.
That nigh
t before bed, Sophie took Spot out in the backyard and opened her Bible under the porch light. She flipped to the second chapter of 2 Timothy and read about being sanctified for “noble purposes, made holy, useful to the Master.” She could remember her dad saying sanctified means “set apart.”
As Sophie read and then prayed, her thoughts turned to Andy. He reminded her of what she was like as a teenager, at least in his search to find his place. She thanked the Lord that she was finally learning what it meant to be “set apart”—that it has a higher purpose than just being different. She didn’t have to be with someone like Stephen to have a meaningful life. In fact, sanctification for her was beginning to look more like the quiet beauty of Jon’s place.
Chapter Fourteen
.................................
Jon knew Sophie was busy.
The Chamber of Commerce, which had claimed him as a reluctant member, was having its November luncheon in the café and, by the looks of things, had requested some special extras. René and Rhonda were working the full banquet tables that had been set up in the parlor, which had been set apart for private parties. He noticed Shannon and Sophie both running back and forth to help Debbie with the regular dining room, which was overflowing with people. At least it was too windy for many people to sit on the porch.
Jon waited till he saw Sophie start back to the kitchen from the front room and then slipped out of his seat.
“Sophie?” He touched her arm softly.
“Jon!” She was flustered and a little harried-looking, but her face lit up in a smile when she saw him.
“I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to ask you—are you free tonight?”
“What’s today? Saturday? Yes. I think I’ll crash and burn.” She reached out quickly and grabbed a lemon from a tea glass that Debbie was carrying by.
“Mrs. Koch is allergic to citrus!” Sophie whispered.
Debbie smiled her thanks.
“Oh, well, never mind. You probably need a rest.”
Sophie asked him, “What is it?”
“The River Valley Theatre guy just told me the University of the Ozarks is putting on A Christmas Carol tonight. I know Christmas is still a ways away…but I thought I might go.” Jon looked at his boots.
“I’d love to go with you.” Sophie pepped up. “What time is it?”
“Well, the play’s at seven, but if you want to do dinner beforehand, we’d need to leave about four thirty or five o’clock to get there. Could you do that?”
“How about we skip dinner and maybe do something afterward, like dessert? I don’t think I can be ready till a little before six.” Sophie looked toward the kitchen nervously.
“That’s fine. I’ll be here to pick you up then.”
* * * * *
The café was a disaster when lunch was over that day. Sophie and the others had to fold up the banquet tables and carry them out to the storage building, then set the parlor to rights. There was a mountain of linens to be washed, Andy was working overtime on the dishes, and all of the usual Saturday deep cleaning still had to be done. It was nearly four o’clock when the last worker cleared out, and Sophie lay across her bed to rest her aching back.
She didn’t linger there long, however; the claw-footed tub that sat in the corner of her suite beckoned her. She filled it up with bubbles and water as hot as she could stand, got in and soaked for a full hour, in and out of sleep.
When she glanced up at the clock and saw that it was five, she jumped out and dried off with a towel before drenching her skin in lavender-scented lotion. In her terry-cloth robe, she dried her hair, curled it into soft waves, and put on her makeup. This time, since she was going to a play, she went a little heavier than her usual mascara-and-lip-gloss-only routine. Then she slid on her dress, which was plum-colored with three-quarter sleeves and simple lines, and tall boots. Her hair went up, with a few curls cascading down, and she wore no jewelry.
She was slipping lip gloss and some money into her hand bag when she heard a knock and then Spot barking.
Spot was jumping up and down at the door, and when she opened it, he ran out on the porch, sniffing Jon’s legs for signs of Aslan. Jon bent down to pet him, then scooped him up.
Jon came in holding a bemused Spot and smiled when he looked at her. He seemed suddenly shy. “You look pretty,” he said.
“So do you—handsome that is.” Jon was wearing dark blue jeans, a white shirt, and a black sport coat. He had on black boots that Sophie had never seen. “Although, I’m afraid you’re getting Spot hairs on your jacket.”
“Oh well, no outfit is complete without a little dog hair, isn’t that right?” He grinned.
Sophie grinned back. “That’s right.”
They let Spot out for a spin around the backyard, deposited him inside the door, and walked around the sidewalk to the front where the Jeep was parked. Sophie submitted to taking Jon’s arm as they walked; the sidewalk was uneven and a little precarious to maneuver in her heeled boots.
She was a little surprised to find that Jon’s arm underneath the sport coat was as hard as a rock. The feel of it—of his strength—in her hand gave Sophie a new kind of thrill. It was not only the joy of physical attraction, though that was certainly there. There was also something deeper. Like the help and comfort that came from walking next to Jon along the sidewalk, Sophie had the sense that walking through life with him—or someone like him—was what the Bible meant by having a helper.
She was disappointed to see the sidewalk end.
As Jon helped Sophie up into the Jeep, someone honked obnoxiously from the road in front of the Harbor House. They both turned to see Misti Clarkson driving slowly past with her old high school friend Jade Thomas beside her, both of them gawking from the height of Misti’s imposing SUV.
A girls’ night out, Sophie assumed. The overdone clothes and hair and abundance of makeup were obvious even from a distance. She smiled and waved politely.
Jon lifted his hand in a token salute as he shut Sophie’s door and then walked to his side. He glanced over at Sophie, rolling his eyes.
* * * * *
The drive went by quickly for Jon. They talked about their favorite Dickens characters—hers was Miss Havisham—as well as their plans for Thanksgiving. Sophie had lots of baking to do for others, but then he found out that she would be alone over the holiday, as Tom and Madeline were going to Madeline’s parents’ house. Jon made a mental note to do something about that.
The fact was that Jon would like to spend every holiday with Sophie. And every day in between. Her presence made his Jeep smell faintly of lavender, which he found intoxicating. His skin prickled every time he glanced at her in her plum-colored dress. He longed to touch the tendril of hair that dangled beside her ear, to bury his face in the softness of her neck…. Jon shook his head as if to focus his muddled brain as he pulled into a parking spot.
The campus of the university was quaint. The main part of it was situated on a hillside in the old section of Oliver, a town about forty miles to the east of River Bend. It was a Presbyterian school and had a gorgeous stone chapel as its centerpiece. Large oaks marked the lawn and gave the setting a timeless feel. The performing arts center, which was relatively new, was down the hill.
When they entered the lobby of the performing arts center, Jon paid for their tickets while Sophie went off to find a bathroom. She came back out to find him talking to a distinguished-looking man.
“This is Dr. Sikes, head of the English department,” Jon introduced her. “And this is Sophia Harper.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” Dr. Sikes shook her hand warmly. He smiled at Jon as if impressed.
“You too,” Sophie said, returning his firm grip.
They exchanged a bit of friendly small talk before Dr. Sikes said he had to go find his seat. “I hope you enjoy the show,” he said as he moved on.
Sophie and Jon walked to their seats in the theater, and several people turned to look at them as they passed.
>
“I forget that you are a celebrity,” she ribbed him when they were seated.
“I imagine they’re all looking at you.”
* * * * *
After the play—which was excellent—Jon and Sophie sat over peppermint mochas and a shared piece of chocolate pie at a nearby coffee shop. The place was warm and festive, with holly garland strung around every possible surface, and a Christmas tree already up in the corner. It had big Charlie Brown lights blinking in all colors. The windows were frosted with spray snow, and there were candles on every table. But in spite of the atmosphere, Sophie felt pensive, and she could tell she shocked Jon by comparing herself to Scrooge.
“That’s crazy!” Jon laughed but stopped when he saw she was serious.
“Not really.” Sophie’s gaze was unwavering.
“How?”
She twirled the little straw around in the whipped cream on top of her mocha and then licked it off.
“Well, I’ve been very selfish, chasing after my own happiness, missing out on what’s truly important. And while I was doing this, my dad died. I didn’t get the chance to make it right, as Scrooge finally did.”
“There are obvious disparities,” Jon observed.
“Okay, so I wasn’t a heartless workaholic hoarding my fortune at the expense of everyone in my life, but I still abandoned the people I love to live some pipe dream life.” She shook her head.
“What if you’d chosen to be a missionary? Or your husband had been wonderful, but his job took you to a different state? What then? You had no control over your dad’s death, Sophie.” His eyes were kind.
“I know, Jon—and I’m starting to come to terms with that—but I will always regret that I married Stephen and that I was far away ‘searching for myself’ when the accident happened. I’d feel different if it had been like you said—if I had been following a noble calling. But too much of my life has been about me. So selfish. Why didn’t I see through Stephen in the first place? And why didn’t I just come home as soon as I got divorced?” Sophie bit her lip. “I had to do things my way,” she spoke from a deep place of regret. “I was such a prideful person—and I kept clinging to my pride until my dad died. Then I hit rock bottom.”
Love Finds You at Home for Christmas Page 21