Lambert's Peace

by Rachel Hauck

  She tossed the black and taupe pumps in the closet and pulled out a brown pair of Mary Janes.

  “Yes, gusto.” Mom smiled at her. “Oh, those shoes will go nicely.”

  “They’re comfortable, too.”

  “When I was your age,” Mom reminisced, sitting on the edge of Taylor’s bed, “I sewed and crocheted and decorated cakes for church auctions. I wore hats and white gloves to social events.”

  Taylor sat on the edge of her desk. “Times have changed.”

  “Yes, they have.” Mom stood, smiling. “I don’t know if I’d do as well in your generation, Taylor. But I’m very proud of you.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Mom. Dad told me how you stood up to Grandpa when you and Dad wanted to get married.”

  “That was so long ago. I was young and in love.”

  Taylor regarded her. “There’s no force in the world more powerful than a loved woman.”

  Mom stood. “No, I imagine there isn’t.”

  After Mom went back to quilting, Taylor puttered around her room, reorganizing her overnight tote, selecting toiletries, and wondering if she should bother with her laptop.

  By eight o’clock, she’d wandered restlessly through the house. She picked at the last piece of cake, split an apple with her dad, and flipped through the TV channels.

  Something bugged her, deep down. She glanced at her dad. It was his words reverberating in her heart. “You won’t get another chance.”

  She grabbed her car keys and called upstairs, “I’m going for a drive.” She drove slowly down Main Street, passing Sam’s and Earth-n-Treasures, the library, and Golda’s Golden Beauty Parlor. She ran her fingers through her hair, thinking she should have gotten it cut before flying to California. But she’d doubted Golda could match the color and style of her favorite New York salon.

  “If I get this job, I’m treating myself to a spa day.”

  On impulse she reached for her phone and autodialed Reneé but got her voice mail. “Hey, it’s me. I’m leaving tomorrow for the California interview. Pray. Call you later.”

  She pressed END and tossed the phone into the passenger seat as the White Birch covered bridge came into view. Slowly, Taylor pulled alongside the road and parked.

  There was no moon. The only light came from a street lamp and the distant glow from Grandma Betty and Grandpa Matt’s home up on the hill.

  Taylor pulled on her coat, zipped it all the way up, and tucked her hands into her pockets.

  Walking toward the middle of the bridge, she remembered the last time she was here with Will. With love.

  “Lord, is Dad right? Am I fooling myself about Will?”

  She prayed, listening to the gurgle of the river and waiting on the Lord.

  In the basement, Will helped Grandpa put the finishing touches on a chest of drawers he was making for baby Matt.

  “I’m going to want this design for the business, you know,” Will said, running his hand along the polished cherrywood.

  “Can’t. It’s special for little Matt.”

  “We can name it after him.” Will stood back to take in the whole piece. Grandpa’s designs amazed him.

  The elder Lambert stood next to his grandson, his shoulders squared. “Well, maybe we can make a few changes so it’s not an exact replica.”

  Will laughed. “Done.”

  He stepped over to the sink to wash up just as Grandma called down the stairs, “Hot chocolate and hot cookies in the kitchen.”

  Will dried his hands and said to Grandpa, “See you. I’m going up.”

  Grandpa waved. “I see you’ve got your priorities straight. I’ll be up as soon as I put the tools away.”

  In the warm kitchen, Will sat at the breakfast nook. Harry left his warm spot by the oven to rest his chin on Will’s knee.

  “Only one cookie, boy, and don’t tell Grandma.”

  “Too late; she already heard.” Grandma came in with a fresh batch of dish towels. “I gave him one, too.”

  Will scratched Harry’s ears. “He’s hard to resist.”

  Grandma brought over two mugs of cocoa and joined Will at the table. “How goes the war of love with Taylor?”

  Will set down the cookie he was about to bite into and shook his head. “She’s going to California for a big job interview.”

  “I guess you have your work cut out for you.”

  “You know she tried to give me back the roses, but I refused to take them.”

  “You broke her heart, Will. She’s not going to let you back in easily.”

  “What about my heart? It could get broken in this process.”

  “Then you’ll know you gave love a chance.”

  “And bleed all over the place?”

  “If necessary.”

  Grandpa came into the kitchen, shutting the basement door behind him. He sat next to Grandma and reached for a cookie.

  “People today,” Grandma said, getting up to pour Grandpa a mug of hot chocolate, “want love to be easy—to be fair. Fifty-fifty. But love requires you to give one hundred percent. It’s not always easy, and it’s not always fair.”

  “I’m willing to give it one hundred percent if she is.”

  “What if she’s not? Are you going to give up? Sometimes love is about one giving a hundred percent and the other giving nothing.” Grandma returned to the nook with a big, steaming mug and set it before Grandpa.

  “Thank you, Betty.”

  Will shrugged. “I’m not sure I want to give myself to something that may end up causing pain.”

  “Jesus did,” Grandma said.

  Grandpa added, “He went to the cross, rejected by His own people, abandoned by His friends, and knowing that many more generations would also reject Him. He gave one hundred percent while we gave zero.”

  Will pondered that truth for a moment. What kind of love moved God to send His Son to pay the price for man’s sins? What kind of love endured the brutality and rejection of the cross?

  Just the thought made Will tremble inside. That same God knew and loved him.

  “It moves me to humility,” he said.

  “If God did not spare His own Son, how will He not freely give us all things? We can trust Him,” Grandpa said.

  Will shook his head. “I’m amazed every time I think about what He did for us, for me.”

  “Will,” Grandma said gently, “if you pursue Taylor and she moves away, then you’ll know it wasn’t meant to be. But don’t give up too soon. If you ask me, whatever happened between the two of you all those years ago is still happening.”

  “It is, Grandma. Only we’ve switched places this time.” Harry scratched at the door. Will stood, picking up his hot chocolate. “I’ll let him out.” Will reached for the knob. “There ya go, boy.” Harry woofed and darted down the hill toward the bridge. Laughing, Will decided to follow. “Heeellloooo,” Will shouted, running onto the bridge after Harry, the bright light of the moon lighting the way. Harry’s bark echoed in the rafters. A shrill scream answered him from the other end of the bridge. “Who’s there?” someone asked.

  “Will Adams. Who are you?”

  “You scared me, Will.”

  He grinned as Taylor stepped toward him. He could barely see her face in the slivers of light that reflected off the river and up through the bridge’s beams. But her voice and her fragrance were undeniable.

  He recognized love. “What are you doing here?” he asked as she drew closer.

  She shrugged. “I went for a drive. Sitting around the house waiting for tomorrow morning was making me crazy.”

  “I can imagine.”

  She sniffed. “Hot chocolate. Hmm …”

  “Would you like some? Grandma made a huge pot.”

  She stepped back, waving her hands. “No, no, I don’t want to trouble Grandma Betty.”

  “Are you kidding me? She lives for moments like this.”

  “It does smell good.”

  He had an idea. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right
back.” He set his mug down on the bridge floor and darted away. “Harry, stay here with Taylor.”

  “Will, wait. Will?”

  He ran up the hill and into the Lambert kitchen.

  Opening and closing cabinets, he searched until he found Grandpa’s old fishing thermos then filled it with hot chocolate. He found a paper bag, snapped it open, and stuffed it with warm cookies.

  “Should I ask what you’re doing running around my kitchen like a crazed man or just not worry about it?” Grandma asked.

  Will grabbed a mug. “Be at peace, Grandma.” With that, he disappeared out the door.

  His grandparents’ muted laughter followed.

  On the bridge, Taylor stood exactly where he’d left her. “Hot chocolate and cookies.” He held up the bag and mug.

  “Oh, wow, they smell so good.”

  “Where should we sit?” Will strode to the edge of the bridge. “The ground is wet.”

  “My car,” Taylor suggested. “We can put the top down.”

  “Can Harry join us?”

  Taylor reached to scratch the sheepdog’s ears. “Of course.”

  With a click of a few buttons, Taylor tucked the BMW’s top away. They climbed in and settled on top of the backseat. Will poured her a mug of hot chocolate and refreshed his.

  “Have a cookie.” He held out the bag for Taylor.

  She took a bite. “Yum. These are so good.”

  Harry set his chin on her knee, his tail swishing against the leather seat.

  “I think Harry likes you,” Will said, reaching for a cookie.

  Taylor giggled. “Only because I have cookies.”

  Will grinned. This was good, right. Only the Lord could have arranged this. “No, Harry just knows a loving woman when he meets one.”

  Taylor broke off a piece of her cookie and gave it to Harry. “Mom and I were talking tonight about how different women are today than when she was growing up and how different her world was from mine.”

  “It is amazing, isn’t it?”

  “She gave birth to me at thirty-three. I’m a single career woman, possibly about to land the job of a lifetime.” Will sipped from his mug. “It’s what you want?” She looked up at his face. “Yes, it’s what I want.”

  sixteen

  Taylor refilled her hot chocolate from the thermos and cupped her hands around the ceramic mug for warmth.

  As much as she determined she wouldn’t fall in love with Will again, she loved being in his presence. But his countenance challenged the walls around her heart, and she wondered if she would ever find another man like him.

  “Favorite color?” he asked suddenly.

  She laughed. “Okay. That came out of nowhere.”

  “Fess up; it’s black isn’t it?”

  “Black? Not a color, my friend. Actually, I like blue.”

  “Favorite gem?”

  “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.”

  “Guess I walked into that one.”

  “Yep.” Taylor sipped her hot chocolate.

  “Favorite song?”

  “Now that’s a hard one.” Taylor thought for a moment. “I know this is corny, but I really love ‘The Old Rugged Cross.’”

  “I like ‘Just As I Am.’”

  Taylor smiled. “Both of those songs make me cry.”

  Harry shifted in the seat between them, curling up against the cold leather, his snout on Taylor’s foot.

  “You just might have to take Harry home with you,” Will said, reaching down to smooth the fur on Harry’s back.

  “Right. That would go over real well with Trixie No-More-Pets Hanson.”

  Will laughed softly. “Remember when you wanted to keep that stray cat?”

  Taylor nodded then sipped the last of her hot chocolate. “Talk about a cat fight.”

  “Okay, favorite memory?”

  The question struck a chord in the resonant places of her heart. The answer was easy: Will. But she wouldn’t confess it out loud. Her time with him eclipsed all the fun days of high school and college, her first apartment, and her first career job and move to New York City. It was as if life without Will had never existed.

  But she had to answer with something. “Hmm, let’s see.” She thought about the night on the bridge. Funny, her best memory was also her worst. She decided to bail. “You go first. What’s your favorite memory?”

  He looked over at her then down at his empty mug. She couldn’t see his face, only the outline of his symmetrical nose and chin.

  “You.”

  A prickly sensation ran over her skin. “Me? What do you—”

  “You’re my favorite memory.” He lifted his head, looking out into the darkness. “Playing basketball, football; eating ice cream; movie night in Franklin Murphy’s basement with those of us who came home from college; driving down Old Town Road in my Camaro …”

  Will had held her hand for the first time while driving down Old Town Road. A tingle ran across her hand as she remembered, just like it did that night.

  They certainly had a strange relationship. One or two handholdings. One kiss. One marriage proposal. Ten years of silence.

  She knew he was looking at her. “The job in California means a lot to me, Will.”

  “I know. I guess I wish I mattered as much.”

  “I’m sorry. But I’ve invested ten years in my career.”

  “Ten years that should’ve been with me,” Will said.

  “But they weren’t, were they?” she answered without malice.

  They were silent for a few moments. Taylor imagined it was getting late, but she didn’t want to leave just yet. Tonight may be her last with Will.

  “You never told me your favorite memory,” Will said, reaching down for the thermos.

  “I don’t know if I can pick one. Maybe my first job. Oh, my first big paycheck. The year I made the cheerleader squad.”

  Will tipped up the thermos. A few drops flowed out into his cup. “Didn’t you try out as a joke?”

  Taylor laughed. “Yes, I did.”

  “You beat out Tammy Carter her senior year.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Okay, that’s not a favorite memory, then. I hated that I took Tammy’s spot.”

  For a long while, they talked about high school and college, comparing experiences and tales. For a man who had lived most of his life in White Birch, Will understood a lot about the world.

  Finally, he said, “I hear it never rains in California.”

  She laughed and bumped him with her shoulder.

  Will bumped her back and scooted a little closer. Harry growled softly when Will’s foot moved him into a different position.

  Taylor clicked her nails against the side of her mug. “It will be a change, for sure.” Why did she feel like he was going to kiss her? Did she want him to kiss her?

  One last kiss … a kiss good-bye?

  Will reached down for the empty bag of cookies. “It’s late. I should get going.” He pressed the backlight on his wristwatch. “Wow, it’s ten thirty.”

  He hopped out the side of the car, and Taylor felt oddly alone.

  “Do you want to put the top up?” Will asked.

  She slid out of the car on the opposite side. “I’ll freeze if I don’t.”

  Will opened the passenger door and called for Harry. Taylor leaned over the wheel, turned the key in the ignition, and powered up the top.

  Will walked around to the driver’s side. “Have a good trip. I’ll pray for you.” He took her hand and pulled her into his embrace.

  A shiver ran over her scalp and down her spine. She closed her eyes, waiting for his lips to touch hers.

  He wrapped her in his arms, and with a light squeeze he said, “See you in a few days. Come on, Harry.”

  She swallowed and muttered, her heat beating with the force of eagles’ wings, “Um, yes, a few days.”

  Boswell Global rolled out the red carpet for Taylor. Alex Cranston personally met her at the airport then escorted her around the
plant as if she were the queen of England.

  The early morning interviews went well, and by the time Alex met her for lunch, she wondered if she glowed.

  “I see you’ve had a good morning,” Alex said, leading her toward the parking lot and his car. “I thought we’d eat at a great little pizza place in Redwood City.”

  Taylor lifted her face to the warm California sun. Yesterday, New Hampshire’s gray sky threatened snow. “Perfect.”

  Soon they were sitting on the patio under the pizza parlor’s pavilion. When the waiter left with their order, Alex said, “The VP of marketing wanted to know which rainbow I followed to find you.”

  “Really?” Taylor sat back, lifting her chin a little. In light of her recent failure at Blankenship & Burns, it felt good to hear she’d impressed the Boswell executives.

  “We have a few more candidates to interview, but my guess is you’re their choice.”

  A spark of excitement ignited in Taylor. “I would be honored to join the Boswell Global team.”

  Alex asked a few typical interview questions, such as how she saw herself fitting in at the company, and, just as she expected, to describe her greatest strength and weakness.

  She smiled and answered with honesty. “Ambition. Both my strength and my weakness.”

  Alex motioned to the waiter to refill their water glasses. “I thought so. Best weakness to have if you learn to manage it.”

  “Believe me, after two years on my old job, and by the grace of God, I learned to manage my ambition.”

  Alex regarded her after that comment but didn’t probe further. “Tell me your career plans. What’s up with Taylor Hanson in five years?”

  “Well,” she started, prepared for this answer. In Charlotte, she’d gone over the top with her response. A month later, her perspective on life was more realistic. “I want to contribute to Boswell’s vision, be a part of the decision-making process that leads us into the next generation. I’m thirty-three, so I have a lot of years ahead of me. I’m not married, so I can be devoted to the company.”

  “Good to hear,” Alex said, smiling and reaching for his water. “Off the record, it’s a plus that you’re not married for now.”

  “How so?”

  “The last CFO left us in a little bit of a mess. You’re going to have your job cut out for you.”