California Romance

by Colleen L. Reece

  After struggling all morning with Sunday’s sermon, his train of thought had finally gotten on track. Why did he have to be derailed just when he was finally forging full steam ahead? The knocking came again. Louder, and not to be ignored.

  Josh heaved a sigh. “Come in.”

  The door swung open. “Hey Reverend, who do you know in Madera?” a laughing voice demanded.

  Josh stared at his mirror image. Same six-foot height. Same lean build. Same gray eyes and short blond hair, except every hair on Edward’s head was in place. Josh grimaced, knowing his own locks must bear evidence of his running his fingers through them while trying to solve knotty problems.

  “Well?” Edward persisted.

  “No one. And don’t call me Reverend.”

  Edward donned an innocent expression that didn’t fool Josh one bit. “You are a minister, remember?” He smirked. “Besides, doesn’t the Bible tell us to respect our elders? This means that since you’re five minutes older than I am, you’re the big brother.”

  Josh winced. He loved his twin more than life itself but wished Edward wouldn’t take things so lightly. “Why the sudden interest in Madera?”

  Edward handed him a letter. “Your secretary gave it to me when I told him I had to see you on a matter of life or death.”

  “Life or death?” Josh raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You look pretty healthy to me.”

  Edward slumped into the massive chair across from his brother. “Beryl will kill me if I’m late for lunch. That fiancée of mine is a stickler for being on time, so I dropped by to see if I could get a loan. Believe it or not, Dad’s playing the heavy-handed father. He wouldn’t give me an advance, and Mother’s off at some do-gooder meeting.” He scowled. “Why’d Grandpa have to tie up the principal of what he left us until we’re thirty? I could use the cash now, not three years from now.”

  Josh gritted his teeth. “I manage all right.”

  Edward hooted. “You have a fat salary. Even if you didn’t, don’t forget John the Baptist. Preachers aren’t supposed to have a lot of money. So…I’m here to relieve you of some of yours.”

  Josh knew he shouldn’t encourage Edward by laughing, but he couldn’t help it. Indolent, always out for a good time, Edward Stanhope possessed a sunny personality few could resist. “Why can’t you take life seriously?”

  “Moi?” Edward’s eyes twinkled. “No thanks.”

  A familiar ache attacked Josh’s breastbone. Why, Lord? I’m giving my life to serving You, but I can’t show my own brother how much he needs You.

  Edward stood and stretched like a lazy cat. “Aren’t you going to open your letter? On the other hand, why bother? It’s probably someone asking for money. Hey, while we’re on the subject, how about that loan?”

  A strange reluctance to open the letter in Edward’s presence caused Josh to reach for his pocketbook and hand Edward a few crumpled bills.

  “Thanks, old man. You’ll get it back the first of next month. Au revoir.” He sent Josh a brilliant smile and hurried out the door, closing it behind him.

  The young minister dropped his head into his hands. Most encounters with Edward left him feeling frustrated and helpless to change his twin’s carefree ways. Five minutes in their birth order had made him the elder brother, but Josh’s relationship with the Lord cast him in a brother’s keeper role he often felt inadequate to play.

  “It’s not that Edward doesn’t believe in You,” Josh prayed. “He does, but it isn’t enough to make a real difference in his life.” He sighed. “Once Edward marries Beryl Westfield, there’s even less chance of him ever having a real relationship with You.”

  An image of the haughty, dark-haired woman flickered into Josh’s mind. Five years older than the twins and a self-proclaimed infidel, Beryl had unsuccessfully pursued Josh before turning her charms on Edward. Josh tolerated her for his brother’s sake but considered her a threat to his and Edward’s close relationship.

  Feeling like Atlas forever trying to hold up the sky, Josh slid to his knees, one hand resting on his highly polished desk. “Lord, how many times have I given Edward over to You, then snatched him back? Help me remember that You love him even more than I do and are in control.” After a long time, he raised himself with one hand, feeling a measure of peace. The forgotten letter rustled, reminding him it needed to be read. Josh sat down again and opened it. His gray gaze riveted on the scrawled first line: You may not remember me, but you saved my life nine years ago.

  Who on earth…? Josh quickly looked at the bottom of the page. The signature sent shock ripples through him—Red Fallon. The letter fell to the desk from nerveless fingers. Remember! How could he forget?

  Josh closed his eyes. In a heartbeat, he was eighteen again, hurrying through a dark alley on one of San Francisco’s meanest streets—a place he’d been strictly forbidden to go. He could see the expensively furnished drawing room in the Stanhope Nob Hill mansion and his mother’s face a few hours earlier….

  Jewels sparkled on Mother’s hands, and she held them up in shocked protest. “No son of mine is going to be part of some so-called rescue mission! It doesn’t matter that your uncle runs it. It isn’t fitting. No gentleman would be caught dead down there with a bunch of criminals and the scum of the earth! That’s what you’ll be if you try to follow in Marvin’s footsteps—dead.”

  Josh didn’t argue. He just waited until the mansion lay silent and sneaked out. Guilt dogged every step of the way to the mission, but something greater than the “honour thy father and mother” commandment he’d learned as a child compelled him to continue. He reached his destination without mishap and decided to enter through the door behind the mission. If a Stanhope servant had seen Josh slip out and reported him, Mother would already have sent a carriage to “rescue” him.

  He held his breath and groped his way down the dark alley. A short way from the mission door, he stumbled and nearly fell. His hands shot down to regain his balance—and encountered rough material.

  Horrified at the contact, Josh forced himself not to run. “God, help me!” he whispered. Strength beyond description surged through him. He gritted his teeth, picked up the inert body that lay at his feet, and stumbled his way to the mission door. He gave it a hard kick and cried, “Uncle Marvin! Help!”

  The door swung out and back. A tall man pulled Josh inside. He slammed and bolted the door, then relieved Josh of his burden. He laid the lifeless body on a nearby cot and bent over to examine it. “What are you doing here, Joshua?”

  The stiffening in Josh’s knees gave way. He sank into a chair. “I don’t know. I just felt I had to come.” He peered at the man on the cot. Dark stains matted the red hair, and dried blood nearly covered the craggy face. “Is he”—Josh choked—“is he dead?”

  “Almost. Son, if you hadn’t found him when you did, this man—whoever he is—would be a goner.” Marvin shook his head. “He still may not make it….”

  Josh wiped a hand across his eyes and erased the scene from his past. It did not erase the hard beating of his heart. Or the memory of what followed that terrible night at the mission. God had once again been merciful to a sinner: a wild cowboy who had been beaten almost to death. Josh thought of how he’d sneaked away from home as often as he could without being detected. He’d hated deceiving his parents but had recognized much more than obedience to his parents hung on what was happening at the mission.

  Now he bowed his head. Gratitude raced through him. “Lord, ‘soup, soap, and salvation’ healed Red Fallon’s body, mind, and soul.” A lump rose to Josh’s throat. That fateful night had also irrevocably changed his own life. Watching God work through Uncle Marvin as he cared for Red Fallon had set a blaze burning in Josh’s soul that had never died.

  He picked up the letter again. Except for a few sporadic notes from Red over the years, they’d lost touch. Why was he writing now? The further Josh read, the more he marveled. Red wrote:

  It took a heap of time for folks here in Madera—especially
Abby Sheridan, the prettiest little filly in the valley—to believe I’d really changed. They finally did. So did Abby. Now we’re married with a couple of little cowpunchers.

  I been tryin to tell others about Jesus. There’s a lot of cowhands just like me who oughta grab hold of Him. A few are willin to listen. I guess they figger if God could forgive the likes of me after all the bad I did, He could save most anybody.

  The minister here’s leavin in a few months. I hear tell you’re some punkins at that big city church, but it don’t cost nothin to ask: Will you come to Madera? We need you. Bad.

  Josh stared at the final words until they blurred, then looked around the tastefully decorated study and out the window that overlooked San Francisco Bay. Lazy, white waves ruffled the shore. A horse-drawn carriage rumbled over the cobblestone street. The mournful cry of a ferryboat in the distance slowly dwindled into silence.

  Josh took in a long breath, held it, then slowly released it. He’d come a long way since that night in the alley. Not just blocks away from the mission, but to Bayview Christian. High atop a hill with an incomparable view, the church was one of the most imposing and respected in the city. Filling the pulpit meant the height of San Francisco success for any minister, especially one as young as Josh.

  Why then should Red’s letter fill him with emotions he couldn’t understand? What had a plea from a rescued cowboy who was “tryin to tell others about Jesus” and needed help “bad ” to do with Joshua Stanhope?

  Chapter 3

  Dozens of sparkling prisms hanging from a large chandelier reflected off Letitia Stanhope’s diamond necklace and set rainbows dancing around the large dining room. Correct in the formal attire his mother insisted on for dinner, Joshua forked his Lady Baltimore cake into infinitesimal pieces and ignored the table conversation.

  Edward’s mocking voice interrupted Josh’s woolgathering. “So, Reverend, what did your letter from Madera want? Money, I’ll wager.”

  For once, Josh didn’t tell his brother not to call him Reverend. Instead, the first words that came to mind popped out, “Not money. Me.” The next instant, he wished he could crawl under the table—anything to get away from the accusing faces turned toward him.

  “What?” Edward’s eyebrows shot up.

  Mother gasped and dropped her silver fork to the damask table covering. A red tide rose from her lace collar to her carefully coiffed blond hair. She opened her mouth to speak, but Charles forestalled her. Josh caught his father’s significant glance at Maria, the maid who helped serve and now stood frozen beside his chair.

  “We will discuss it later.” The finality in his announcement offered Josh a temporary reprieve but didn’t erase his regret. Why had he blurted out the last thing he should have said? His mother’s expression warned of an impending storm. Josh dreaded the session that would surely be as relentless as the gale-force waves that sometimes beat against the rocky shore of San Francisco Bay.

  If only he could get away for a few moments to collect his wits before the family left the dining room! Josh glanced around the table, looking for a way to escape. His gaze stopped at his crystal water goblet. He raised it to his lips, then jerked his arm. Water cascaded down the front of his waistcoat and dripped onto the table. He snatched his linen napkin and began mopping up. “Sorry.”

  “Of all the awkward—let Maria do that and go change your clothes,” Mother ordered. “Don’t dawdle. We’ll wait for you in the library.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Josh stood. But before leaving the room, he saw Edward’s eyes narrow. Josh sighed. Fooling his mother was one thing. Putting anything over on his twin was almost impossible. Well, at least the diversion had given him a few moments alone before facing his family.

  Josh changed into dry clothes and knelt beside his heirloom bed. “Lord, why am I feeling so defensive? It’s not like I’m going to Madera.”

  “Oh?”

  The unspoken word left Josh gasping. He tried to laugh off his reaction but failed miserably. “Surely You don’t mean for me to leave San Francisco,” he prayed, trying to ignore his rapidly beating heart. “Not when everything is going so well at Bayview Christian.” Yet doubt niggled. What if God meant just that? Josh shook his head, remembering the tempest that had followed his decision to go into the ministry nine years earlier. A tempest so strong it almost tore his family apart.

  Josh’s mind flashed back to the day he’d chosen God’s path instead of the path his parents—especially his mother—had selected. His heart thundered, just as it had on that long-ago day. He’d honored his father and mother since childhood, but he could not, would not deny his Master’s call—even if it meant alienation from his family. After rescuing Red Fallon, the call had grown from a spark to a living flame, fueled by stories from the Bible of those who left all to follow God…most of all, Joshua’s challenge to the Israelites: “Choose you this day whom ye will serve…: but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”

  Josh had thrilled to the words that had extinguished any lingering doubts. Then he’d girded himself for battle and shattered the silence of the quiet library with his announcement.

  “Mother, Dad, I don’t want to disappoint you, but I’m not going to be a ‘doctor, lawyer, merchant, or chief,’ as the old saying goes.” His parents and Edward sat like statues. Only the crackle of the fire broke the stillness. Josh licked his dry lips and added, “God is calling me to be a minister.”

  Josh recalled the bitter scene that followed, but warmed at the memory of how Edward had defended him.

  “Don’t get upset, Mother,” he’d said. “The last I heard, the ministry was still a respectable profession.” Edward flashed the winning smile that seldom failed to get him what he wanted. “Think how proud you’ll be when the San Francisco Chronicle reports, ‘Reverend Joshua Stanhope, son of Charles and Letitia Stanhope, continues to fill the pews of First Church, or Bayview Christian, or one of the other leading churches with his powerful preaching and persuasive personality.’”

  Mother hadn’t been convinced. “But what will our friends think?”

  “Letitia, our friends will be happy for us or kind enough to mind their own business,” Father had said. “I’m proud that one of our sons is choosing to follow his heart.”

  Mother immediately ruffled her feathers on Edward’s behalf. “Don’t be so judgmental, Charles. Edward’s music is just as important as Joshua wanting to preach.”

  “Hardly.” Edward stood and stretched. “It might be different if I thought God wanted me to do something important with my music.”

  “You may find out if you take the time to listen,” Josh told him. “Remember what happened to the man in the Bible who buried his talent?”

  “Of course I remember. God called him a wicked and slothful servant.” Edward grinned and clasped his hands behind his head. “I won’t forget what our Sunday school teacher said when I asked her to explain slothful.” He pursed his lips and raised his voice to a high treble. “‘A sloth is one of the ugliest animals ever created and by far the laziest.’”

  The corners of Mother’s mouth turned down. “You aren’t slothful. You just haven’t decided what you want to do with your life. It’s probably best, considering what Joshua is planning.”

  Edward shrugged. “Let him go ahead and become a preacher. If he doesn’t like it, he can always be something else.” Mischief danced in his eyes. “Maybe someday Josh can convert me.”

  Josh recoiled, as he always did when his brother treated eternal issues lightly. “Only God can do that.”

  “I know.”

  But after the family meeting ended, Edward had gone to his brother’s room. “Sorry for being flippant, old man. The truth is, we’re so much alike, I’m afraid if I ever get serious about religion, God might want more of me than I can give.” He strode off, leaving Josh speechless and praying for his unpredictable twin.

  Josh’s thoughts returned to the present. Still on his knees, he sought out his heavenly Father. “Lord, g
ive me a quiet spirit and the right words when I go downstairs. The idea of my going to Madera will send my family into turmoil. Mother found it nearly impossible to swallow when I became a minister. If You call me to preach to cowboys and ranchers, she’ll feel it’s beyond the pale.”

  A scripture that had sustained Josh in his revolt nine years earlier rushed into his mind: “Then said Jesus unto his disciples, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.”

  Did “taking up his cross and following” mean losing Mother and possibly Edward? Dad might not agree with his son’s decision, but he would never forsake him. Neither would God. Taking a deep breath, Josh got to his feet and slowly went downstairs.

  Mother’s first words showed she was primed for battle. “What did you mean about someone in Madera wanting you? Who is this person? How dare he approach you?” She broke her staccato questions to add, “I presume it’s a he. Or is some brazen girl or woman attempting to lure you to that godforsaken place?”

  Josh quelled the desire to laugh. “Not a girl or woman. A man I once helped.”

  Mother pounced. “Helped? Who? How? When? Where? Why do I know nothing of this?” She sniffed. “Really, Joshua, sometimes you are so quixotic. Helping a person doesn’t give him a claim on you. Why can’t you be more like Edward?”

  Josh winced. If only Mother would accept him as he was. “Why are you getting upset over something that may never happen? The letter simply asks if I’d be willing to come to Madera. The pastor of the church is leaving, and—”

  “Go to Madera?” Mother shrilled. “Leave San Francisco and Bayview Christian? Is this person a lunatic?”

  Josh’s hopes of making her understand died aborning. “No.” What would she think if he repeated parts of Red’s letter, words that had indelibly etched themselves into his brain: “Will you come to Madera? We need you. Bad.”