“Not so secret,” she whispered.
Fingers shaking, she opened it and unfolded the sheet of paper inside. A few brief lines and a single Bible verse, in Fraser’s unmistakable strong handwriting.
I’ve read about the illness, to better understand what you’re facing. I’m willing to stand beside you and try to bring more light and love into your life, if you’ll let me.
God said: “I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for.”
He keeps His promises. You do have a future.
Fraser
No words of love. Not even signed with a kiss. Still, it affected her more powerfully than a hundred sermons or a thousand positive-thinking books.
His words and verse hit right to her core, awakened seeds of something she’d thought long dead, buried, encased in stone.
When she’d seen the test results, she’d given up her hopes and dreams. Her future narrowed to an ugly little council house. Looking after Mum, waiting to get ill herself.
She’d persisted with her studies out of determination to finish, not because she expected to be able to teach. Her hopes hadn’t extended past getting her diploma. Even the grand project of the sensory garden hadn’t been more than wanting to give Mum some temporary happiness.
Was it too late to start hoping and dreaming again? She couldn’t have her old dreams back, they were long gone. But perhaps she could allow new ones to grow.
It seemed Fraser had plans. Maybe God had a better plan for her life than the way she’d been living, too.
She had no idea what it could be and wasn’t even sure she could let the possibility in.
But with sweetly scented daffodils filling the back seat, anything felt possible. Even if just for this moment. She wound down the car window, cranked up the volume on the classic hits radio station, and she and Mum sang along all the way home.
Exactly the way they used to in her teens. Before Mum got sick.
*
On Monday, Sarah wasn’t surprised to find Mary knocking on their front door midmorning. The Fraser effect in action.
The older woman held a blue ceramic bowl of spring flowering plants. Yellow narcissi, pink and blue flowered primroses, indigo grape hyacinths, and tiny purple violas.
Just looking at it lifted Sarah’s heart.
“Fraser didn’t tell me your address, in case you’re wondering.” Mary began talking, with that mischievous twinkle of hers, before Sarah could say a word. “He knew I wanted to visit, but said he couldn’t tell me because it would be breaching your privacy. So I used Google instead.” She grinned. “The computer course I did has finally come in handy.”
So much for keeping her secrets. Still, maybe it was time to stop hiding the truth. She couldn’t turn Mary away.
Thankfully, Mum was having another good day. Even on a bad day, this was her most lucid time. And the house was tidy.
Sarah swung the door open. “Mary, please come in. Mum, it’s Mary, from the kirk, come to pay us a visit.” She pitched her voice loud enough for Mum to hear over the television.
Her mother hurried into the hall, looking slightly anxious, the way she always did when she wasn’t quite sure who someone was and if she should know them. “Oh, how beautiful!” Her face lit up. She’d always loved flowers.
“This is my mother, Isabel. Mum, this is Mary. From the kirk.
Mary held the bowl out to her. “They’re for you. A welcome gift.”
“Thank you so much.” Mum carefully cradled the planter and smiled down at it.
“I go to the early service too, but we’ve never had the chance to talk there,” Mary said.
Exactly the right thing to say. Mum wouldn’t need to worry that she should know Mary. “How kind of you to visit. Please come in.”
She carried the flowers into the living room. Once there, she stood looking around the room, a bewildered frown creasing her face.
Sarah moved a faded vase of dried flowers off the dining table. “Why not put it here, Mum?”
Her confusion cleared. “Of course.” She positioned the pot, and her tense shoulders loosened. “That’s perfect.”
“I’ll just switch the TV off.” Sarah reached for the remote control Mum could no longer remember how to use, and turned to Mary. “Would you like tea?”
Mary nodded. “Please.” She glanced around the room. “Did you do these paintings, Isabel? They’re very good. Sarah said you were artistic.”
Mum nodded uncertainly.
“She did.” Sarah smiled, and then went into the kitchen to prepare a tea tray.
Listening over the noise of the kettle, she heard Mary suggest Mum try a painting of the flowers. She prayed this wouldn’t end in tears. Last time Mum tried painting, she’d been so angry and frustrated that it wouldn’t go right, she’d torn the painting into pieces and cried. Sarah couldn’t bear seeing her in such distress.
Mary sat next to Mum at the dining table, helping her choose and mix watercolours and place them on the page. Mum had become upset when Sarah tried that, telling her she knew what to do, but she took the guidance from the older woman. Maybe in her mind she was back at art school and Mary was one of her teachers.
Whatever it was, it worked. The finished painting looked nothing like the bowl, but the bright splashes of colour possessed a life and beauty of their own. The main thing was, Mum enjoyed it.
Mary stayed for lunch and did a great job getting Mum reminiscing about her girlhood in the ’60s and ’70s. After Mary left and Mum napped, Sarah stared at the painting.
She thought she’d done the right thing, protecting Mum from being hurt. Instead, perhaps she’d made Mum’s life too small, stopped encouraging her to try. They’d been living life in drab shades of grey, when colour was there for the asking. Guilt bit at her, sour and acid in her throat.
But there was an answer. She’d have to stop being quite so overprotective and let Mum try to do more.
Right on cue, her mobile phone beeped. Fraser. No message, just a link to a travel article about a crag walk neither of them had done, but they’d discussed one lunchtime. Purple heather, yellow gorse, and a huge blue sky beckoned from gorgeous photos.
Maybe there was a message. He listened. He remembered. And he’d like them to do the walk together one day, if they could.
Sarah admitted the truth. She’d like to do the walk with Fraser, too.
She hadn’t only made Mum’s life too small. She’d made her life too small, too.
But she wasn’t sure if she dared to change it.
*
Tuesday, Sarah started to expect that Fraser might have a surprise for her.
It arrived in the post after lunch. A pretty little framed print of blue misty mountains, with a Bible verse from The Message, a version she’d never read before, in beautiful script.
Relax, everything’s going to be all right.
Rest, everything’s coming together.
Open your heart, love is on its way.
Lovely words. But almost like a reflex, bitterness flooded her, twisting her hands till they clenched the frame. Anger burned deep in her belly, all the anger she’d never let herself feel since Mum got ill.
Something rebellious and hurting in her wanted to throw the picture at the wall, watch it break into tiny pieces, hear the glass smash and tinkle to the floor.
Only knowing the noise would wake Mum from her nap stopped her.
Sticky sweet, sentimental, unrealistic.
It might be true for other people, but not for her. Not for Mum. How could everything be all right? How could she relax and rest? As for opening her heart? In her experience, love walked right out the door, not in.
She stood there for a long time, clutching the frame. Repeating the verse to herself. The words sank deep into her heart.
Relax, everything’s going to be all right.
Rest, everything’s coming together.
Open
your heart, love is on its way.
Her tight shoulders dropped, and her hands loosened. She blew out a long low breath, and the fire in her gut subsided. Carefully placing the picture on her bedside table next to the huge vase of daffodils from Sunday, she looked at it and smiled.
Maybe, just maybe, it could be true.
God’s promises applied to her, too, not just to the “normal”, non-defective people.
At least, she had nothing to lose by acting as if they did.
*
A potent brew of anticipation and fear bubbled up in Sarah when she walked into the sports teachers’ staffroom on Wednesday morning. What would Fraser have planned for today?
And more important, how should she behave when she saw him?
Their old one-of-the-guys friendship had gone, but she wasn’t sure what they could put in its place. That didn’t stop her braiding her hair nicely rather than simply tying it back, and choosing her most flattering yoga pants instead of baggy old sweats.
No flowers on her desk, but she hadn’t expected that. Too obvious, and he wouldn’t do anything to embarrass her in front of the other teachers.
But opening the fridge to put away the diet cola and sandwich she’d brought for lunch, she saw a shopping bag from the nearby upmarket deli, with her name on it. Inside was a takeout bowl of her favourite Caesar salad, along with a bottle of the spring water she bought occasionally but usually couldn’t afford.
She smiled at the thoughtful treat. He’d remembered what she liked best.
When she logged into the computer to check her e-mails, a message from Fraser popped up.
I’ll be at a training session for the Regional Championships till lunchtime. Year Nine have their sports as usual this morning. Bob will replace me. Meet in the staffroom at 12.30?
Professional and businesslike. She wouldn’t expect anything different from him on the school intranet.
Though she tried hard to give the Year Nine basketball teams her full attention, the morning classes had never ticked by so slowly.
As the lunch bell rang and she waited in the staffroom for Fraser, she felt every bit as silly and fluttery as the girl students swooning over the latest boy band. Giving rational answers to Bob’s attempts to chat her up stretched her to the limit.
Her heart leapt like a hurdler when Fraser arrived and gave her a sweet warm smile. She couldn’t stop herself grinning in return, so wide everyone in the room would have to guess something was going on.
The blush heating her cheeks probably didn’t help, either.
Lord, why does the guy have to be so irresistible?
The answer came straight back at her. Maybe it was time she stopped resisting.
She had to resist, didn’t she? For Fraser’s sake as well as her own. But much more of this and her resolve would weaken.
“We’re all going to the pub for lunch, you coming?” Bob asked. His eyes were on her, not Fraser.
“I’ve brought my lunch,” she said. Not a lie, though she hoped she’d get to eat the Caesar salad in the fridge rather than her boring cheese and tomato sandwich.
Fraser shook his head and pointed to a stack of papers on his desk. “We have a load of lesson prep for Year Seven PD.”
The rest of the teaching team went, leaving them alone in the office. Sarah stared up at him, biting her lip, unsure what to say. Thank you seemed a good place to start.
“Thank you for all the gifts you sent.”
“How has your week been?”
They both spoke at once, then stopped, laughing.
“You first,” he said. “But let’s grab lunch so we can talk while we eat.” He nodded toward his desk. “I wasn’t joking about the lesson prep. We have a lot to get through.”
He went to the fridge and pulled out the deli bag, then reached in his backpack for his lunch. “For you. I think I got it right.” He pushed the bag across to her.
“You did. Thank you.” She grinned. “I couldn’t resist peeking when I saw my name on it.”
“An unmarked salad would be thieved, and nobody would believe it was mine.” He passed her a fork and took a bite from his sandwich. “So, tell me about your week so far. And how is your mum?”
Pausing in peeling back the lid of her salad, she smiled. “Mum is better than she’s been for a while. Thank you for sending Mary around.” She held up a hand in mock sternness as he opened his mouth to protest. “Don’t try to pretend you didn’t cook that idea up between you.”
“I didn’t precisely suggest it. When I came home on Sunday, Mary was there. She’d guessed about your mum and wanted to offer you some respite. I didn’t give her the address, either.”
Her gaze lifted to the ceiling, and she snorted. “No, you just told her how to Google for it.”
“The computer class was months ago. She was obviously a good student.” He laughed. Then his expression sobered. “I had a fine line to walk, making sure not to tip over into creepy stalkerish. I hope I didn’t.”
“W-e-e-el….” Pretending to have to think about it, she chewed a forkful of salad, and then chuckled at his alarmed glance. “No, you didn’t. Thank you for the flowers. And the message. And the little picture.” Letting loose a long breath, she wondered whether to tell him the truth. “I liked knowing you were thinking of me.”
The smile lighting his face felt like winning an Olympic gold medal. Or maybe two.
“I hope I get it right the rest of the week, too,” he murmured, his eyes intent on her.
She grimaced, not totally faking it. “I don’t suppose it’s any use me asking what you have planned?”
“That would spoil the surprises. But you don’t have to do any of it. If someone turns up on your doorstep, feel free to send them away. They’ll blame me for getting it wrong, not you.” He spread his hands in front of him. “I’m trying to show you how good our life could be, Sarah. That’s all. It’s always your choice.”
It was. Which was exactly what she was afraid of.
Chapter Twelve
While Sarah dug into her salad, Fraser gathered the paperwork from his desk.
After diving deep into God’s word, spending hours in prayer, and discussing the situation with his parents, the best relationship counsellors he knew, he felt sure of one thing. If Sarah would give him time, let the seed of love planted between them grow into all it could be, they’d be strong enough to deal with whatever their life together threw at them.
It might be tough, but with God’s help, anything was possible.
He smiled. This woman who loved gardening already had him thinking like a gardener. He prayed he could help her change some of her thinking too. Help her start thinking like a woman who knew she deserved love and a normal life as much as anyone else.
The pile of papers dropped onto the table in front of Sarah with a solid thump. Her eyes widened. “You really weren’t joking.”
He sat opposite her. “Nope. Year Seven Personal Development. I asked them to write down one thing they liked or appreciated about everyone else in the class. We need to sort these into a stack for each student and weed out anything unsuitable. They’re going to put together their own individual portfolios.”
“They are?” She pushed her salad to one side and sat up attentively. PD had been her favourite topic for debate with him.
“Here. This is the class handout.” He slid a printed page across the table.
Sarah picked up the sheet and read aloud. “When we tell ourselves that if we don’t come first, we’re second rate, it can stop us trying. Real winning is about being all we were created to be. We win every time we exceed our own personal best.”
He hoped she’d be pleased.
Shaking her head, she looked up at him. “I’ve been arguing this with you all year, and you gave me your losers-come-second routine.” As much puzzlement as annoyance tempered her voice.
“We both enjoyed fighting our corner.” He shrugged and ventured the hint of a grin. “You’ve inspired me to change
. Some of the kids aren’t trying, or have set the bar way too low. They’ve been told they aren’t good enough, or they’ve let expectations they can’t meet make them feel they’ve failed before they started. You convinced me it’s better to teach them to aim high, but celebrate their achievements along the way.”
A tiny frown creased her brow, and she raised her hands to cover her eyes. He’d agreed with her. How could anything he’d just said upset her?
“Sarah?”
Her hands dropped, and her pinched smile looked forced. “Good strategy. Let’s get sorting these.”
Whatever bothered her, she clearly wasn’t going to tell him.
They both grabbed a handful of pages and started dividing them into smaller stacks for each student. Most of the class had taken the assignment seriously. His chest swelled. Plus, not too many pages needed to go in the bin. Still occasionally, ones they hit made them giggle.
“The thing I like about Joseph Douglas is that his feet don’t smell,” Sarah read. “Does this one stay in or go in the bin?”
He laughed. “Maybe we need a ‘borderline’ stack to reconsider. Here’s a nice one for you.”
She took the page he passed her. “The thing I like about Miss Browne is that she helped me do things I thought were too hard. Aww.”
Her smile made him feel all gooey. When he decided to do this activity with the class, he’d hoped it would help, both her and the kids. She smiled the same way a few more times as she shifted pages to her personal stack.
“Here’s another one for you. The thing I like about Miss Browne is that Mr Maclean is a lot nicer since she started. He used to be a grump.” He snickered. “True enough. I needed to change.”
She laughed and pushed the paper back to him. “Maybe this one belongs on your stack, not mine.”
With the next page she read, she stopped and raised startled eyes to him, lifting a hand to her chest. Across the table, his handwriting lay in front of her. Even if the words themselves didn’t tell her who wrote it, she’d seen his writing often enough.
He knew exactly what she’d read. He only wished she’d open her heart to believe it.
Without waiting for her to speak, he recited what he’d written. “The thing I like about Sarah Browne is that she’s teaching me the biggest lesson of all: what it means to love. She’s made me want to be a better man, she’s taught me to trust God’s plan, and she’s helped me to discover that it really is better to give than to receive.”
Love Blossoms: 7 Spring-Fresh Christian Romances Page 28