Makin' Miracles

by Lin Stepp

  Spencer felt suddenly annoyed.

  David studied him, and Spencer knew David had seen his expression change.

  David smiled at him. “When I was growing up, I was always a bookish kid. Wore glasses by the time I was ten. Sucked at football and baseball. Rode my bike three miles every Saturday to go to the library to get books. I was fascinated with history, with old places, old stories. But I’m a professor of history now. I’ve come into myself.”

  Spencer shifted uncomfortably.

  Leaning back in his chair, David continued. “I wasn’t a regular kid, and I’m not a regular guy. I quit wishing I could be only a regular guy a long time ago. And, over time, I’ve learned that deep down inside most regular guys wish they were more like me and you, Spencer. Or like Zola. But, of course, they wouldn’t say so.”

  Spencer wasn’t sure he liked David’s words. “Maybe I want to be just a regular guy.”

  David grinned. “Oh, come on. Be honest with yourself. Look back in the annals of history. Who do you admire? Who comes to mind? The stand-out guys who were different and accomplished something or the regular guys? Your real hunger is to be a guy who stands apart from the crowd—at least, if you’ll admit it.”

  Spencer thought about his words. “I have the feeling you’re giving me a familiar lecture.”

  “Maybe.” David crossed one leg over his knee. “I work a lot with college students who are learning to appreciate their uniqueness, who are beginning to get over wanting to fit in with the norm and starting to develop their own individuality.”

  A flash of annoyance streaked through Spencer. “You think I haven’t gotten over that? That desire to fit in with the norm?”

  “What do you think?” David quirked an eyebrow at him.

  Spencer threw a sofa cushion at him. “I think you remind me a lot of my friend Aston Parker.”

  David fended off the cushion with a laugh. “I met Parker once in the gallery. Nice guy. I’d like to know him better.”

  Spencer considered this. “Maybe I’ll host a dinner soon up at Raven’s Den. Pay you back for the meal here. Invite Aston and Carole, the girl he’s dating, Rachel Lee, you, and Zola. Maybe Clark Venable, the other guy I work with, too.”

  Zola and Rachel Lee came into the room as Spencer stated this thought.

  “Oh, that sounds like fun!” Rachel Lee said. She and Zola came to sit down in the living area. “Who does Clark date?”

  “No one in particular.” Spencer scooped up the sofa cushion he’d thrown playfully at David and put it back on the couch.

  “Well, maybe we can fix him up with someone.” Rachel Lee put her finger to her chin thoughtfully. “Let’s see.”

  Spencer raised an eyebrow toward Zola and grinned playfully. “Maybe Zola might have an idea. She sort of introduced Aston and Carole.”

  “I can’t think of anyone right off.” Zola sent him a forced grin, knowing he was baiting her.

  “I’ve met Clark,” Rachel Lee went on. “Kind of a geeky guy, into computers and the outdoors. Doesn’t dress up like Aston does to work in the gallery. Lives in jeans. Hmmm.” She snapped her finger. “Let’s fix him up with Stacy.”

  Zola sat up in surprise. “My cousin, Stacy?”

  Rachel Lee crossed her arms. “How many Stacys do we know, Zola?”

  “Well, I don’t know. Stacy doesn’t date much and I don’t know if she’d come.”

  “She’d be perfect. And if you can’t get her to come, I will. She owes me for something.”

  “What?” Zola asked.

  Rachel Lee waved a hand. “Never mind. But she does.” She turned a warm smile toward Spencer. “So when can we all come up, Spencer? I’m dying to see what you’ve done with Raven’s Den.”

  By the time they left for the evening, a potluck dinner was arranged for a Friday evening later in the month at Spencer’s place at Raven’s Den. Rachel Lee planned the event so quickly that Spencer wasn’t even sure how it all happened.

  “She’s good.” Zola said this with a smirk as they got in the car.

  “What?”

  “Rachel Lee. She’s good. She can talk anyone into just about anything.”

  Spencer grinned. “So, was she a bad influence on you growing up?”

  “No. She was actually a good influence. Rachel Lee was always one of those genuinely nice people. All the things she talked people into doing were usually good for them.”

  “Like getting you to eat your spinach?”

  Zola laughed. “You saw her getting Ava to eat her peas by singing her a little song about peas tonight, didn’t you?”

  “I did.” Spencer laughed. “They’re good people, Rachel Lee and David. I had a great time.”

  “I’m glad.” Zola leaned back and closed her eyes.

  The quiet of the evening settled around them.

  “Listen.” Her voice grew soft. “You can hear an owl.”

  Spencer heard it then. He hadn’t noticed it before she mentioned it. But now, he enjoyed listening to it calling in the darkness.

  “What kind do you think it is?” he asked.

  “Probably a barn owl.” She cocked her ear. “You can tell by the sort of screaming sound it makes, really different from a hoot owl’s call.”

  He thought about that as he started the car and backed out of the driveway. “A barn owl is the one with a sort of white, heart-shaped face, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “There is a barn owl nest near the old barn behind my farmhouse. Maybe it’s one of those owls we’re hearing, out hunting mice and voles tonight.”

  Spencer’s interest was sparked. “Do you know where the nest is? Do you think I could get some photos sometime?”

  “Maybe.” She laughed. “Owls aren’t easy to photograph, Spencer. Especially barn owls. They’re hard to see. They blend in, look like tree bark. But you can come and try sometime. I’ll show you the place where I saw their nest.”

  When they got back to Zola’s house, she didn’t ask him in. She stopped at the steps to turn and tell him good-night. “Thanks for taking me to David and Rachel Lee’s with you.”

  “It was a date, Zola. I was supposed to pick you up.”

  She looked at him in question, cocking her head to one side. “Was it a date? I thought Rachel Lee asked us to come. You didn’t ask me out.”

  He leaned toward her, feeling the hairs on his arms prickle as he got close to her. “Do you want me to ask you out, Zolakieran Sidella Eley Devon?”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “You remembered my whole name.”

  “I remember a lot about you.” He reached out to run his hands down her arms and felt her shiver under his touch.

  She swallowed and tried to remain casual. “What is your full name, Spencer?”

  “Spencer Gordon Jackson. I’d carve our initials in a tree, but it would be a lot to carve.”

  “And it would hurt the tree,” she finished.

  He smiled and leaned in closer. “Let’s have a date tomorrow night, Zola Devon. One where I’m asking you out. It’s a Saturday night—a good night for a date.”

  He heard her suck in her breath. “It is a good date night. But I’m scheduled to work at the store until six tomorrow.”

  “Then I’ll pick you up there at six and we’ll go out to eat somewhere in Gatlinburg. Wouldn’t that be nice?” He slipped a hand up to touch her face.

  “All right.” She pulled back a little. “I can ride in with Faith tomorrow; then I won’t have my car to bring home. Faith works for me and lives nearby. She’s Rachel Lee’s sister, you know.”

  “I didn’t know.” She was babbling and nervous around him. He liked it. All too often Zola seemed to hold the upper hand with him.

  He cupped her face in his hands and leaned in closer.

  “I probably need to go in,” she whispered.

  His answer was to brush his lips over hers, to slip his hands underneath her mass of curly black hair, to whisper her name against her mouth.

  Spen
cer looked at her then. She’d closed her eyes to savor it.

  It was always like this with her. Magical. Memorable. She always did something to make each time with her one he would never forget.

  She reached her hands up to catch the front of his shirt, not opening her eyes. And then she traced her fingers up his neck and over his lips and face.

  “I want to know how you feel without seeing you.” Her voice was a soft whisper between them.

  He closed his eyes and reveled in the moment with her, touching her, letting his fingers roam over her face without looking at her, too. It was heady stuff, and both of them were soon breathing more rapidly.

  Impatient then, Spencer caught her against him and kissed her with urgency and passion. It was all the better for the teasing before. Beginning to simmer with sexual excitement, Spencer let his hands start to roam down to cup her hips.

  She pulled back, taking his hands into hers. She looked at him then with very serious eyes. “I can’t go there, Spencer. I want you to know that right now. In the place I walk in the Lord, I can’t go there. The gifts don’t flow where there is sin. And I respect too much what is entrusted to me to disrespect the One who gave me His gifts.”

  “You’re trying to tell me you don’t sleep around.” Spencer tried to steady his heartbeat.

  She sighed. “A lot of my dating ends pretty early because of that.”

  He studied her, looking at the passion still shining in her eyes, seeing her lips still soft and wet from his kisses. She wasn’t saying these words because she didn’t want him.

  She dropped her eyes and then looked up at him again. “You don’t have to go out with me tomorrow night now if you don’t want to.”

  He saw the worry in her eyes, the edge of regret and disappointment already beginning. He knew feelings like that.

  Spencer kissed her fingers, still laced in his hands. “I want to go out with you, Zola. I’ll pick you up at six.” He leaned over to kiss her nose, not trusting himself to dive into her mouth again.

  “Okay.” She stepped back, turning to start up the porch steps, searching for her keys in her handbag to unlock the door.

  Spencer framed his hands and took a mental shot of her as she turned back toward him to say good-night. The light from the open doorway framed her in a soft glow—backlighting her—enhancing her special beauty.

  “Good-night,” she said quietly, starting in the door.

  “Good-night, beautiful Zola,” he replied.

  She turned back at his voice.

  Spencer smiled at her, feeling an unexpected tenderness touch him. “You said earlier you were different, Zola. I’m different, too. You won’t drown me for it, will you?”

  “No.” She smiled back at him. “I will cherish you for it. I believe it is God’s intent for us each to be unique and different.”

  He watched her wave and shut the door.

  Walking back to his car, Spencer worried if he might drown in a different kind of way with Zola Devon. And he wondered how she might change him in the process.

  CHAPTER 11

  Zola sat at the counter in Nature’s Corner the next day looking through a stack of purchase orders, while Faith Upton Rayburn visited with two store customers. Zola smiled to herself to hear Faith at work. She had a natural Appalachian gift for getting to know a stranger quickly.

  “Well, isn’t that something?” Faith nodded her head at the older woman she talked with. “Your husband being a Bales probably means the two of us are related back somewhere.”

  She flashed the woman one of her sunny smiles. “My mother was a Bales before she married. Her people go back to Ephraim and Minerva Bales. Their old cabin still stands on the Roaring Fork Nature Trail. Have you and Mr. Bales been there yet?”

  The older gentleman pricked up his ears, eager to learn more about how to find the Nature Trail just outside of Gatlinburg.

  Faith gave the couple directions to get to the Ephraim Bales cabin. “The Jim Bales cabin is on that road, too. You can pick up a little auto tour book to tell you all about it. Who knows? They just might be your great-great-grandparents.”

  A chat about genealogy ensued.

  Faith walked over to the pile of homemade quilts stacked on a shelf near the silky pareus. “You know, two of these quilts were made by Minnie Bales Jenkins. She lives right here in the region. She’s probably kin to you, too. You really ought to look at her work. She might be one of your Bales cousins.”

  The couple from Ohio oohed and aahed over the quilts, and they ended up buying two to take back to their married children in Cleveland. As the woman exclaimed, “I’m sure our children will be thrilled to get a handmade quilt probably made by one of their Appalachian relatives.”

  They left the store, delighted with their purchases and eager to drive the Roaring Fork Nature Trail to see the two Bales cabins.

  “Good job.” Zola smiled at Faith. “That was a big sale for us today.”

  “What?” Faith always seemed genuinely surprised at the idea that she’d benefited the store. It was part of her charm that her natural interest in people dominated her sales instinct.

  Maya grumbled only yesterday about Faith. “That woman could talk the legs off a jackrabbit. She makes a friend of every stranger she meets.”

  “Yes, but she often outsells all of us,” Zola replied with a grin.

  It was the truth.

  Faith walked over to lean on the counter near Zola. “Isn’t it incredible,” she said, “that a couple of tourists would walk in here today, coming all the way from Ohio, and probably be kin to me?”

  “Yes, it is.” Zola smiled at her.

  Faith frowned instead of smiling back. “You know, it worries me, Zola, that Ben Lee keeps telling people you’re going to find the person that hurt his daughter.”

  It was typical of Faith to rapidly change subjects, too.

  She shook a warning finger at Zola. “Ben’s daughter has probably been murdered and that’s a dangerous business. I don’t like Ben spreading rumors like that.” Faith put a hand over Zola’s. “What if people really believe you can somehow know who the murderer is? That criminal might still be out there somewhere and come after you.”

  “I doubt that.” Zola put the stack of orders back into a file, satisfied all were correct.

  Faith fingered the seashells in a basket on the counter thoughtfully. “Well, it really is sad about Seng Ryon, Ben’s daughter. She was a nontalkative, no-nonsense sort of woman, but she was a good person. And she worked real hard at that restaurant, too. It must be awful for her family not knowing what even happened to her.”

  Zola listened to Faith’s chatter with affection. Faith was Rachel Lee’s older sister by ten years, and she’d often looked after both girls when they were smaller. She was now happily married to Dalt Rayburn, a fiddler and one of the members of the Rock Hill Boys bluegrass group. Dalt’s people lived in Wears Valley and Dalt, like his father, was a fireman at the Wears Valley Fire Department. His mother was head cook and kitchen administrator at the Buckeye Knob Camp.

  “How are your children, Faith?” Zola asked. The store had grown quiet for a few minutes, so it was a good time to catch up.

  “Heavens, Logan’s in that shooting-up adolescent stage and all his pants are suddenly too short. And Lila’s growing up, too, and getting all fussy about her clothes and wanting to wear lipstick.” She rolled her eyes. “I told her not to let her Granddaddy Upton see her in lipstick! You know what he would say!”

  Zola smiled, remembering Reverend Upton’s strict rules about makeup and dress for girls. “I remember he wouldn’t let Rachel Lee wear lipstick until she turned sixteen. She used to put berry juice on her lips.”

  Faith laughed. “Lila does that same thing. And Alicia copies her. She’s in first grade now. Let me show you her new school picture.”

  Faith dug into her purse to get out pictures of her four children. “Taylor, my third,” she said, tapping his photo. “He’s gotten his daddy’s fiddling
gift. He just won the junior championship for his age group. Lordy mercy, he can surely play the fiddle.”

  “I’ll bet Dalt is proud.”

  “Well, sure. But he’s proud of all his children. They’ve each got their own gifts.”

  The phone rang, interrupting them.

  Faith answered, “Nature’s Corner, this is Faith.”

  She listened without comment to the caller, and then hung up slowly. “Now that was a right odd call, Zola. Some man mumbling in a muffled voice about a bomb. Isn’t that peculiar?” She looked at Zola in confusion. “It sounded like he said it was all your fault for his bad luck and that you needed to pay.”

  Before Zola could consider a reply, the front door opened, and a man dressed in black, wearing a ski mask over his face, threw something into the store. He slammed the door behind him afterward, and then started racing frantically across the courtyard of the Laurel Mountain Village Mall.

  A canned-looking object rolled across the floor of the store and then began to emit smoke and make a whistling noise.

  “Oh, my gosh!” Zola felt her heartbeat escalate. “Quick, Faith, out the back!” Zola grabbed Faith’s hand and raced for the back of the store. They both heard the explosion as they pushed their way out the door into the alley. The store alarm went off, shrieking into the air, and total chaos ensued at the mall.

  Thirty minutes later, Zola sat patiently filling out a report with the Gatlinburg police chief, Bill Magee, when Spencer pushed his way into the store.

  “Are you all right, Zola?” he asked, elbowing his way around the policeman trying to block the doorway.

  She nodded, while the young officer began to protest about Spencer pushing past him.

  “Let it go, Raymond,” Bill Magee said. “Jackson owns the store a few doors down. He’s naturally concerned and he obviously knows Zola.”

  The officer let go of Spencer’s arm then, allowing him into the room. Spencer made his way to Zola, searching her face, looking her over anxiously.

  A soft warmth rolled through Zola’s being. He was worried about her. “It was only a smoke bomb,” she assured him. “Sounded and looked scary. Made a lot of noise. But was essentially harmless.”