Makin' Miracles

by Lin Stepp

  “Wow.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively, giving him another head-to-toe look.

  He smiled, his eyes roving over her with appreciation, too, noticing the tailored gray pant suit she wore with a soft, pink blouse and simple jewelry. Zola knew it was a different look from her usual bright clothes and hoop earrings. When she’d talked with Spencer about the weekend, he mentioned that his family were very traditional. Zola decided she didn’t want to make a statement by standing out.

  Spencer leaned over to kiss her cheek. “You look nice, too, Zola. Very nice.”

  He draped his jacket on the bamboo coatrack by the front door. Zola could see when he turned his back that there was no ponytail tied behind his neck anymore. He’d truly made a transition in this area of his appearance.

  She studied the new haircut—neat and tailored. He’d obviously been to the barber earlier in the week since he sported a tan now where his long hair had been tied back with a leather string on his neck before.

  “You’ve cut all your hair off,” she said. She frowned at him, not sure she felt happy about this change. “Did you think you had to change your identity that much for your family, Spencer? In order to be accepted?”

  He turned and gave her a challenging look. “Actually, Zola, who I am is not in how I dress or wear my hair.”

  She felt a smile quirk the corners of her mouth. “Well spoken, Spencer.”

  He grinned. “I’m working on it, Zola.”

  Watching him, she noticed that he seemed more at ease with himself today, which surprised Zola when she thought of what they were soon to face.

  “My bags are here and ready to go.” She pointed to her suitcase and carry-on by a side chair and then looked at her watch. He’d come early.

  “I know I’m early,” he said, seeming to read her thoughts. “I stopped by to see your grandmother and grandfather before I came over.”

  “You did?” That was a surprise.

  His hand moved to rub his neck again as if missing the length of hair that had been there before. “Yes, I did. I wanted to assure your grandparents I wasn’t going to be taking advantage of you on this trip to Richmond.”

  She could feel a blush begin to creep up her cheeks.

  A frown touched his face. “I told them my mother had insisted we stay at the house this weekend rather than at a hotel. Your grandparents seemed pleased about that. It wasn’t what I preferred, of course, but I decided if I was going to dive in, I might as well jump in at the deep end.”

  “I see.” She grinned.

  He shuffled, uncomfortable now—hesitating before saying something else.

  Zola watched him, wondering what else was on his mind.

  He rubbed his neck again. “I talked to your grandparents about another matter while I was there.” His hazel eyes caught Zola’s, serious and intense now. “I told them I was going to ask you to marry me and I wanted to get their blessing.”

  Zola’s knees felt weak, and she reached out to grab the back of the couch to anchor herself. She had not expected this. And certainly not today.

  A warm look crossed Spencer’s face, and he reached over to trace the back of his hand down her cheek. “I love you, Zola Devon.” His voice held a husky note. “I told you that before and I really did mean it.”

  He reached for the coat he’d hung on the bamboo rack. “I’d like my family to meet you as my fiancée.” He dug a faded jewelry case from his coat pocket and handed it to her.

  “This was my Grandmother Chatsworth’s mother’s ring. Passed down through several generations. It’s old, but my grandmother said she hoped I’d give it to my future wife one day. I hope you’ll like it.” His eyes moved toward the faded blue case. “If not, we can choose something else.”

  Still feeling stunned, Zola opened the box to see an oval ruby circled by small, sparkling diamonds. The stones were set in a warm gold ring that was burnished with age. The ring was softly beautiful and seemed to speak of the enduring loves and years it represented.

  The cherished, old ring called to Zola, but she hesitated.

  Her eyes found Spencer’s. “Are you only asking me to marry you as protection with your family—and with Geneva—when we go up to Richmond?”

  Spencer winced as if she’d hit him. “If I were weak enough to want protection—and, granted, I probably am—I still wouldn’t be foolish enough to ask a woman to commit her entire future and life to me simply to insulate myself from a few potentially unpleasant scenes.”

  Zola felt a guilty flush rise up her neck. “I’m sorry, Spencer. I guess I spoke without thinking.”

  He leaned one shoulder against the wall. “I know you don’t admire how I’ve handled things with my family, Zola. But it has been a truly happy event in my life to have discovered you.”

  She dropped her eyes, her emotions a scramble.

  Spencer stepped away from the wall and took both her hands in his. “You are the first bright, happy thing that has come into my world in many years, Zola. You warm my heart, my life, my blood.”

  His eyes captured hers. “You can look deep right now, Zola. You won’t see another woman in my thoughts. I want to spend my life with you, share my days with you, have children with you, and grow old with you.”

  The words sounded sweet, but Zola wondered if another time, given the sight to see, she would see only herself in Spencer’s thoughts as she seemed to now.

  His watchful eyes never moved from hers. She knew he was waiting for her answer.

  “All right,” she said at last. “We’ll take the first step and see how things go.”

  She heard him release a pent-up sigh of relief before he leaned forward to kiss her with eager warmth. Then he pulled away to take the ring from its box and slip it on her finger.

  His voice grew husky again. “This is a sweet moment, Zola. I wish I had a photo of this.”

  She held out her hand to admire the ring. “Just make a photo memory in your heart, Spencer.”

  “I will.” He smiled at her.

  Zola noticed the ring fit surprisingly well, which was unexpected.

  “I had it sized,” Spencer said, seeming to read her thoughts. “Maya Thomas at your store told me the right size.” He grinned then. “She said I’d better not be a bootoo anymore, and that I’d better take good care of you and cherish you.”

  Zola raised an eyebrow. “Did she, now?”

  “She did,” he replied. “She also told me some good stories about you—like about how you were led to find her after her husband died and then asked her to come work at the store. She said you helped her and her girls to find a house to rent when the resort her husband worked for tossed her out.”

  Zola frowned. “The resort gave them free housing because Nigel Thomas managed their sales department, but practically the day after his funeral they kicked Maya and the girls out. They had a new manager coming in, they told her, who needed the apartment. They also took away her job at the resort gift shop. It was appalling how she got treated. Out with the old, in with the new—that’s how they acted.”

  Zola felt her anger flare remembering it. “They had to move into a single motel room together. And Maya was having a hard time getting another job with her mixed nationality.”

  “So I heard.” Spencer reached over to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand again. “It was good of you.”

  “Not really. The Lord connected us. I was opening the store and needed her, and she needed me. She’s a wonderful store manager. It was a blessing I found her.”

  “The more I learn of you, the more I love you.” He leaned over to kiss her again.

  A frisson of passion surfaced, and Spencer moved in closer, pulling Zola into his warmth, running his hands up under her hair and then down over her back, drawing her closer to him.

  He pulled away reluctantly to look at his watch. “I hate to shorten this moment, my future Mrs. Jackson, but we have a plane to catch.”

  Zola pondered the sound of that title over the ne
xt hours as they checked into the airport, boarded, and took off for Richmond, Virginia. Flying shortened a seven-hour drive to a forty-five minute flight.

  It was Spencer’s father who met the plane—coming forward with a face wreathed in smiles as they came into the terminal. He was about Spencer’s build, with a kindly face. His hair, once dark, was now threaded with gray, receding on both sides of his forehead. He had the same hazel eyes Spencer did.

  He shook his son’s hand firmly in welcome and then leaned in to give him an awkward hug. Spencer’s return hug looked equally self-conscious, but Zola saw a glimmer of a tear in the corner of his eye.

  She stood back quietly to watch them welcome each other. It had been twelve years since Spencer had been home to Richmond, but Zola knew he’d seen his parents several times over the years when they visited in Savannah. Still, since he’d moved to Gatlinburg, they hadn’t seen each other at all.

  Zola watched the look of love in Spencer’s father’s eyes and felt her spirit lighten. Regardless of what had happened, this man still held deep love for his son. She found that very promising.

  Introductions made, they collected their bags and located Gordon Jackson’s spotless luxury car in the airport parking lot. The international airport lay east of Richmond, and their route to the Jackson home took them south and then east of the city. On the way down the freeway, Spencer’s father opened up to talk congenially about sights along the way, telling them about changes in the city since Spencer had last been home. Zola could see he was making an effort to be sociable to put them both at ease. It was kind of him.

  Zola watched Spencer lean forward eagerly from the backseat as the car turned onto rural lanes nearer to his family homeplace.

  Spencer had tucked Zola into the front seat beside his father, letting her be the one to respond with politeness to his father’s comments. Yet, despite himself, Spencer joined in the discussion now, pointing out familiar spots to Zola along the way. Zola could feel the eager excitement in him build as they drove up the quiet lane to the country residence belonging to the Jackson family.

  The house, a sprawling one of angles, gables, and porches set behind a charming white picket fence, was cloaked in a mix of stone, shakes, and white lap siding with a dark gray roof. The home sat on a sloped green lawn, neatly landscaped, with a background of hardwood trees and an arch of ivy growing over the front porch entrance.

  It seemed hard to imagine, from appearance only, that this had been anything but a happy home.

  “It’s beautiful,” Zola said.

  Spencer’s father smiled at her while Spencer sent her a telling sideways glance. He wasn’t as comfortable as he was portraying.

  A smiling lady came out the door as they drove up. She tripped down the sidewalk, her eyes eagerly focusing on Spencer as he stepped out of the car. Obviously Spencer’s mother, she reached out to hug him. Zola noticed her embrace was given with fondness but careful restraint.

  She held him at arm’s length then. “You look very good, son. Welcome home.”

  Zola wondered if Spencer’s parents noticed the change in his expression at that last word—or saw him wince. He looked up at the house with wary eyes now, a feigned smile still pasted on his face.

  Spencer’s father took Zola’s arm and introduced her. “Marion, this is Spencer’s friend, Zola Devon. Zola, I’m sure you’ve realized this is my wife and Spencer’s mother, Marion Jackson.”

  Zola shook her hand politely, noticing she had warm brown hair like Spencer’s but that in other ways Spencer looked more like his father. Mrs. Jackson wore her hair pinned up in a neat bun and had small pearl posts in her ears. Her clothes were obviously expensive and fashionable, a silky cream shirt tucked into tailored tan slacks with matching sling-back shoes and a tasteful belt.

  Spencer slipped his arm into Zola’s, drawing her closer to him. “Zola is my fiancée now.” He held out her hand, adorned with the ruby ring.

  “Oh, it’s Grandmother’s ring.” Marion studied it with a wistful expression. “Mother told me she gave it to you some years ago. I’d almost forgotten.”

  She smiled at Zola. “I can remember my grandmother—Spencer’s great-grandmother—Amelia Chatsworth wearing that ring.” A memory touched her face wistfully. “She was always very much in love with my grandfather Randal Gaynor Chatsworth. That ring carries much affection.”

  Zola, surprised, looked at her more closely then. “I could feel that,” she said. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

  Marion seemed embarrassed at her lapse into fancy, and quickly recovered herself. “We must get you both up to your rooms so you can get settled,” she said. “Spencer, I’ve put you in your old room, although, of course, it’s been remodeled since you left. And I’ve put Zola in Rita’s old room. It’s tastefully decorated now with some nice antiques I found at auction, and I think she will find it restful.”

  Spencer leaned closer to Zola to say softly, “Rita’s choices of décor in her bedroom always set Mother’s teeth on edge. I’m sure Mother was thrilled to redecorate the minute Rita moved out.”

  “I heard that,” his mother said. “Your sister is gifted, but she had appalling taste in her teenage years. That room was always a virtual kaleidoscope of colors and it seemed that she repainted the walls in some new, vibrant shade every year.”

  The room, after they’d climbed the stairs to find it, was tastefully decorated in sandalwood, tan, and cream with subdued botanical prints on the walls.

  “I hope you’ll be comfortable here, Zola,” Marion Jackson said.

  “I’m sure I’ll feel right at home.” Zola smiled at her.

  She saw Spencer smirk as he put her suitcases on a low table. Zola knew he was remembering the bright colors and eclectic furnishings in her old farmhouse in Tennessee.

  A short time later, after freshening up, Zola added a neat little vest to her traveling outfit, to replace the gray coat jacket, for dinner. She left the vest unbuttoned, her one informality. It didn’t seem likely from Marion’s or Gordon’s dress that she could expect casual dress, or jeans, for dinner.

  As they went downstairs, Zola noticed that Spencer still wore his dark slacks and pin-striped shirt. She quickly saw that Friday night dinner was served in a fine formal dining room complete with shining crystal and silver-edged china.

  Furthermore, a cook or housekeeper soon scurried in and out of the dining room bringing in a tureen of soup and salads as a first course. Zola sighed. It was undoubtedly going to be one of those fussy, formal dinners. She hated those.

  She leaned in to whisper to Spencer before they walked into the dining room. “Is this the norm here for evening dinner at your home?”

  “Yep.” He swept a hand around. “Just a quiet, typical little dinner at the Jackson home.”

  Spencer’s mouth tightened. “I warned you it would be different from anything you’re used to. But you can expect it to get worse when all the family arrives—unless things have changed a lot.”

  They hadn’t. And the evening did get worse.

  The family that night included Spencer’s parents, Grandfather Stettler Jackson and his current wife Charlene, Spencer’s sister Rita and her date Bryan Hall, and Spencer’s brother Bowden and his two boys, Trevor, nine, and Austin, seven. The only missing family member was Bowden’s wife, Geneva.

  The boys seemed very curious about Spencer and pleased with the small gifts Zola and Spencer brought them. They were still young enough to be thrilled with bags of plastic dinosaurs and two colorful kites.

  They spilled the dinosaurs out on the floor with enthusiasm until their father made them put them on the sideboard until dinner was over.

  “Geneva had a charity function tonight,” Bowden announced as they all sat down to eat. “She regretted it, but she’ll look forward to seeing everyone tomorrow night at the anniversary party.”

  Zola had been curious to see Geneva in person, but she felt glad, in a sense, to postpone the meeting. There was enough tension to de
al with at the dinner table.

  “Well, how did you meet Spencer-Savannah?” Bowden asked her, leaning his elbows on the table to study her as he asked the question—and shooting a challenging look at Spencer.

  Zola felt Spencer tense at the question and saw him scowl at Bowden. She and Spencer had been seated across from each other where she could see his expressions clearly. He’d become tense and uncomfortable as soon as everyone settled down to eat.

  Smiling at Bowden, and ignoring his obvious roving assessment of her, Zola answered him. “Spencer’s gallery is near my store, Nature’s Corner, in the mall in Gatlinburg.” She had no intention of telling him anything more personal.

  Spencer’s grandfather jumped in. “Is that one of those new-age stores that sells kinky aromatics, incense, and wind chimes?”

  It was a rude question, as Bowden’s had been. But Stettler Jackson asked it with a charming smile as though he had every right to ask anything he wanted of anyone.

  Zola studied him. He was dressed in a neat suit, his hair white above a tanned, age-blotched face. His eyes shone sharp and bright, but Zola could sense an edge of cruelty underlying his smiling expression. He’d made it clear from the moment they sat down to dinner that he was in charge of this family, as he was obviously used to being in charge of many other aspects of his life. He even cut his own wife down to size the first time she tried to be welcoming and congenial to Spencer. Zola noticed she backed off dutifully. The boys, too, ate without making any conversation, evidently trained that dinnertime was a time for adult conversation only.

  “My store is not a new-age store, Mr. Jackson, but I do sell wind chimes as one of my products. I find people are very fond of them and that they sell well.”

  “Tinkling bunches of nonsense dangling from people’s porches and in their houses, jangling about every time you bump into them. Never could stand the things myself.” He grinned as if entertained with his own observations. “Do you and Spencer make any money with those tourist-town stores?”

  Truly, he was insufferable, Zola thought.

  “Honestly, Grandfather,” Rita interrupted. “You know Spencer has become quite successful. Quit picking at him and Zola.”