“I hope Niles attends the services,” Mary whispered.
Had Olivia heard correctly? Had Mary just shared a personal desire?
“Probably,” Olivia ventured. No doubt Mary already knew church attendance was encouraged by the Harvey organization, and from what Olivia saw, Mr. Niles was a company man. “You know,” Olivia continued, very much wanting to understand her roommate, maybe draw close to her for once, “I’ve always wondered what Mr. Niles’s first name is. Do you know?”
“It’s Albert.” Mary didn’t look up from her sewing. No doubt Mary regretted her words about Mr. Niles already, because Mary O’Dell—tall, thin, and with dark hair pulled so tightly in a bun that one could count the strands—obviously wanted more than praise from the man.
She wanted him.
It took only fifteen minutes for the patch of grass under Wayne’s feet to flatten. What had he been thinking? He’d done a Sunday school class here and there, but never a full-fledged sermon—and never a sermon given outdoors to a crowd!
Niles had insisted on carrying chairs from the dining room outside. Mary was right at his side. Esther sat on one now, looking uncomfortable and alone. Wayne’s reunion with his daughter hadn’t gone as planned. First, she hadn’t wanted to leave her grandparents—two years had allowed for roots to dig deep. Then she’d looked at him as if he were a stranger and called him Mr. Gregory instead of Papa. Next, the long train ride demonstrated to Wayne the true meaning of the word fidgety—squirming was an art form mastered by his daughter. As a final insult, last night, her first at the El Tovar, she’d cried herself to sleep.
Wayne felt like a failure. He wasn’t warming to the job or to his daughter, nor did he hold out much hope that this sermon would light a fire under the feet of his audience gathered on the El Tovar’s porch and spread over the front lawn. All Wayne felt was dry mouth as he noted how many nonemployees were gathering in the audience. “I meant for this to be an intimate service for employees. Who told all these people?”
Niles chuckled. “They have eyes. The Harvey employees are dressed in their best, most are carrying Bibles, and you certainly have the minister pace down pat.”
“The minister pace?”
“Every minister I’ve ever seen usually spent a good deal of preparation time with his head bowed as he paced while mouthing his lesson.”
“I’m not only mouthing my lesson,” Wayne said dryly, “but also trying to think which hymn I know by heart.”
“Surely you know plenty. You’ve certainly got a scripture for every occasion.”
“Can’t remember a single tune. I put together this lesson during the train ride home. Between here and Kansas I must have hummed a hundred. Now I can only remember ‘Jesus Loves Me.’ How about you lead a song or two?”
Niles snorted. “My voice would scatter the masses.”
Glancing at his watch, Wayne stepped to his podium and gripped the sides. In forty-five minutes, the staff would need to get to their stations and hurriedly set up for lunch. The restaurant business didn’t rest on Sundays but did observe shortened hours. A light breakfast of coffee and donuts had been served this morning, but a full lunch was anticipated by the guests—all of whom seemed gathered before him.
“Thank you for coming.” His words carried—after all, he was a lawyer and knew how to project his voice—and the crowd hushed. He took a moment, smiled, and tried to calm himself. What a perfect place for a sermon. Trees, swaying in a gentle breeze, flanked the audience. A few squirrels were in attendance. And the crowd smiled expectantly—save for his daughter, Olivia Prescott, and Robert Thatcher.
Olivia was as fidgety as his daughter.
Robert Thatcher sat near the back, arms crossed, with a look that dared Wayne to attempt redemption.
Deciding that redemption would be a good sermon for next week, Wayne welcomed the audience with what he hoped was a very inspiring prayer and then cleared his throat. “Hopefully, soon,” he began, “we’ll be organized enough to have different song and prayer leaders. After service today, anyone who’ll be around next Sunday is welcome to volunteer. In the meantime, I think ‘Amazing Grace’ is fairly well-known.”
Wayne’s first foray as a song leader demonstrated why he was a public speaker and not a singer. Luckily, two women sitting on the porch kept the pace, and of all people, Robert Thatcher, an exuberant alto, kept the song on key.
Wayne had titled his sermon “New Beginnings.” He hit on creation, wisdom, and the Word. He realized halfway through that he was trying to cover too much. He should have done creation today, wisdom next Sunday, and then gone on to the Word. Still, the audience willingly flipped their Bibles from Genesis to Proverbs to John.
One of Wayne’s strong points while defending a case was giving the jury time to mull over details. He knew how to use silence to increase comprehension. He used this technique during his sermon, pausing often to let the saints ponder his points. While they were turning pages, he studied those in attendance.
He first turned to where Robert Thatcher sat. Robert’s judgmental look had been replaced by joy while he’d been singing, but now the man wore a bored frown. Maybe if he had a Bible in front of him, he’d have something to do with his hands and not be so displaced.
Mary O’Dell looked to be the first to find her place. She managed the pages of her Bible as efficiently as she lined up plates of food for her customers. Constance, Dinah, Mabel, and Sarah Jane were a few moments behind her, but judging by the look on their faces, he could tell they were thinking about his lesson and taking it in, while Mary probably felt it more important to keep her place.
Michelle was sitting by the two teenage boys. Wayne now knew they were here with their surveyor parents. The boys seemed very self-sufficient and weren’t a bit shy. They looked over Michelle’s shoulders as she found the proper scriptures. Judging by the look on her face, she was more aware of their attention than the sermon.
Olivia obviously didn’t handle her Bible much. By the time she found one scripture, he was providing the next.
Sitting just to the left of Olivia was Daniel. The man was like a sore tooth. He was usually the first customer to arrive in the morning and the last to leave. He’d bombarded both Niles and Wayne with questions about the Harvey business, the travel, and the girls. He seemed especially keen on Olivia’s background—not that Wayne shared the contents of her file. Daniel had also picked up on the feud between Olivia and Michelle. The man was nosy and apparently didn’t own a Bible.
His daughter’s Bible remained unopened. Analise’s parents had promised to take her to church—something they hadn’t done with Analise. He’d believed they kept their promise because they’d made it to Analise as she lay dying. Obviously during the last two years Esther had been in the keeping of pew-warmers—people who attended church but weren’t sure why. Wayne could develop a sermon about pew-warmers. He’d parallel them to the people who ordered lavish meals but didn’t appreciate the taste.
He had so much to make up to his daughter.
Anger swelled, at an inopportune time. He stumbled through an analogy and forced himself to focus on the faces of strangers instead of friends so he wouldn’t get distracted again. One thing was for sure: He needed a lesson on anger, because he felt a real hatred toward his ex-partners. Not so much because of what they’d done to him—although the memory of being set up was the main culprit—but because of what they’d done to his daughter’s spiritual welfare.
“I want to close with a scripture. Please turn to John 1:1.” He waited a moment then recited from memory. “‘Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.’”
Most had been scurrying to keep up and find the verse, but as he said the words, they looked up.
“Son,” Daniel said, “I believe you just quoted Romans 12:19. That verse might be more fitting with a different lesson. One I’m sure you could preach.”
Wayn
e managed a weak smile. He’d just messed up. Instead of finishing with his intended verse, highlighting “beginnings,” he’d uttered the verse on his heart—the one he was using while trying to forgive his ex-partners, his in-laws, and truthfully, himself.
Chapter 6
Olivia had really never spent any time with small children. Not that Esther Gregory considered herself small. “I’m eight,” she’d announced after she left the table where her father had placed her and started following Olivia.
Mr. Gregory had provided Esther with a Bible, two picture books, pencils, and some old menus. Olivia remembered those early days after her mother died. Before hiring Mrs. Baudouin, John Prescott had taken Olivia into the factory with him. He’d sat her at a table with a giant dictionary and some blank order forms and pencils. She’d done pretty much the same thing Esther did now—pushed the books away and explored.
Esther looked disdainfully at the books. “Mr. Gregory thought I’d like these, but they were too easy. Besides, someone scribbled in them.”
“I don’t have any books,” Olivia said before glancing around to see if any other, more matronly, more motherly, waitresses looked inclined to step in.
“I didn’t expect you to,” Esther said matter-of-factly. Clearly the little girl knew she’d picked the one Harvey Girl who knew nothing about children and therefore wouldn’t know how to get rid of one. “Can I help with the flowers?”
“I don’t think your father would approve, and why do you call him Mr. Gregory?”
“That’s what my grandparents call him. I’ll go ask if it’s okay for me to help.”
Before Olivia could protest, the little girl was gone.
“That’s one way to get out of work,” Michelle remarked as she held up a saltshaker to make sure it was full. “Get close to the boss’s daughter. Soon you’ll be back to doing what you do best: nothing.”
Dinah Weston spoke up: “I think it’s great Esther took a shine to you. She looked so lost yesterday during the sermon.”
She wasn’t the only one lost, Olivia thought. Mr. Gregory’s sermon was unlike any she’d ever heard. Not only was it interesting, but she’d also understood most of it, even the out-of-place scripture at the end. The minister back in Prescott used to yell and pound on his Bible. When she was little, Olivia would burrow her head behind her father’s arm. She’d been afraid to look at the preacher for fear he’d look at her.
She didn’t mind looking at Mr. Gregory. Funny how at first she’d thought Mr. Niles the more handsome of the two. She’d been wrong, she realized now as she watched him enter the dining room a few steps behind his daughter. This morning his tie was crooked, and his hair looked a bit damp.
Olivia felt her breath quicken. The girls were right about his good looks. Sarah Jane had been the first to notice that Mr. Gregory’s hair was the color of dark chocolate. Constance noted his eyes were the same color as his hair. Mabel was especially drawn to what she called his rugged chin.
“You want my daughter to help you?” He sounded amazed.
“I used to help Mama arrange flowers,” Esther said.
Olivia watched as emotions played across Mr. Gregory’s face. Once again she saw the man he could be instead of the man he was—the man who seemed intent on convincing her to hang her head and return to Kansas in shame.
“I’d appreciate the help.” Olivia touched Esther’s shoulder, half-expecting the little girl to shy away. While Esther didn’t move any closer, she didn’t bolt, either. Mr. Gregory looked from one to the other. “Thank you,” he finally said. Olivia caught a glimpse of something she hadn’t seen in a long time. It was the look of love, given from a father to his daughter.
Esther was too young to notice or fully appreciate it.
Olivia’s knees threatened to buckle as she thought with longing of her own father. Swallowing back tears, she watched Mr. Gregory head back to the kitchen, then she pulled a centerpiece toward her and showed Esther how to contrast different colors and textures to enhance the arrangement. Then she explained how to vary the size and placement of the flowers. Finally, Olivia set Esther to fluffing leaves. Esther’s slender hands started at the top of the stem and slowly moved downward, guiding the leaves outward. She managed to deleaf quite a few flowers, but the rest took on a nice perky look.
“My grandparents have a garden,” Esther announced loudly, “and a gardener.”
“So did Olivia,” Michelle added snidely.
“Was your gardener Chinese?” Esther asked. “Was his name Pang?”
“No, his name was—” Michelle stopped.
Olivia waited. Esther had such a look of expectation on her face. Would Michelle say something ugly?
“His name is Herb,” Michelle finished. “He’s my uncle.”
“Is your uncle Chinese?”
It was clear Esther didn’t understand the laughter that erupted from the waitresses who’d been listening to the exchange. Michelle laughed, too. The gesture made her look years younger. “No, he’s not Chinese. He just likes working the land.”
“Then why isn’t he a farmer?” Esther asked.
“Because ye have ta own yer own land ta farm, and I don’t want ta anymore,” Michelle and Olivia chanted in unison, aping the old man’s Irish brogue.
“Doesn’t want to what?” Esther looked confused. “Farm or own land?”
“Either one,” Michelle admitted. “He bought and lost three farms.”
“Married and buried three wives,” Olivia continued.
“Then decided the land and women just plain didn’t like him,” Michelle finished.
“I didn’t know land can like people.”
“I think land only had opinions about my uncle.” Michelle graced Olivia with the tiniest of smiles before adding for Esther’s sake, “You don’t need to worry.”
After the flowers were arranged, Esther took a shine to Sarah Jane and helped fold napkins. Once that task was finished, she sat at her original table and fidgeted until Dinah sat down and drew a very realistic likeness of Mr. Niles on the back of an old menu.
“I didn’t know you could draw,” Constance said, leaning over to watch as Dinah deftly darkened Mr. Niles’s whiskers and with her finger smudged in his five o’clock shadow.
“There was an artist in my hometown,” Dinah admitted. “She really helped me.”
“Will you show me how to get the different shades using the one pencil?”
“Me, too,” Esther inserted. “I want to learn.”
A moment later, both Constance and Esther were working on drawings of Mr. Niles. Constance unwittingly added about fifty pounds to her boss. Esther looked to have a future as a cartoonist. All the girls gathered around to admire the Mr. Niles replicas. When the man himself entered the dining room, he raised his eyebrows at the giggles and frowned good-naturedly as two of his employees hid papers behind their backs. Esther wasn’t quick enough. A moment later, Mr. Niles complimented her artistic talent. Clearly he didn’t recognize himself.
After he checked every girl’s station, he pulled Olivia aside. “Why are the flowers so bare looking? Half of them look to be missing their leaves.”
Wayne found that the Harvey House’s laundry was a great place for musing. He checked towels and thought to himself, One month, two weeks, and three days. That’s how long it would be before the Grand Canyon school resumed, and Wayne would have a place where Esther would hopefully stay put for hours. It would be so much easier for him to manage the restaurant if he could manage his daughter. She was busier than he remembered. But then, he’d never had full-time responsibility. After Analise died, his in-laws had helped. They’d taken over full-time after the constable showed up at his door. Once Wayne made bail, he’d taken Esther back home and prepared his own case.
Only a fool represents himself, more than one of Wayne’s contemporaries had advised. Wayne hadn’t listened, and to this day, he couldn’t fathom how anyone might have convinced the jury of his innocence. His partners had left a
trail of damning evidence leading right to Wayne’s door.
His first year in jail, he’d been like a man in a trance. He was Job. Everything, everyone, he loved had been snatched from him. While incarcerated, his exposure to Esther was limited; his exposure to God was limitless. His second year had been an awakening. He’d relied on his Bible. It had become his best friend and saved him.
“Mr. Gregory,” Dinah said, catching up to him as he refolded a stack of linens. “There’s a customer complaining about his breakfast. He’s being quite abusive.”
Entering the dining room, he first noticed Mary O’Dell, as red as a woman could get, with bits of potatoes and eggs smeared on the front of her frock. This had to be the unfortunate breakfast.
“Vous la femme incompétente, j’aurai votre travail!” the customer ranted.
Wayne didn’t understand a word.
“Monsieur, calme vers le bas. Nous vous ferons cuire un autre petit déjeuner. J’assurerai personnellement il répond à vos normes.” Olivia stepped in front of Mary.
Wayne doubted Olivia understood how unreasonable the inebriated could be. He’d served his time beside remorseful men who’d committed heinous crimes they couldn’t recall after they sobered. He quickened his pace, stood in front of his waitresses, and said almost nonchalantly, “What’s going on here?”
“Des employés de Youâre, elles m’insultent,” the man sputtered.
“He wanted Olivia’s station, but she was in the gift shop,” Mary explained. “She came and took his order and then went back. When I served him, he looked unhappy. Before I could fetch her to find out why, he grabbed my arm and threw his food at me.”
“Que j’aurai tous vos travaux. Le défi vous écouten—!”
“Enough.” Wayne motioned for the man to cease talking. “Olivia, ask him what was wrong with the food.”
“It doesn’t matter what is wrong with the food,” Olivia sputtered. “He threw his meal on Mary. There’s no excuse for that!”
“Trust me, Olivia.”
She clenched her teeth so tightly Wayne could feel the tension, yet she gave a tiny nod before asking, “Monsieur, ce qui avait tort avec votre nourriture?”
The Timeless Love Romance Collection Page 11