He touched her arm, and she followed him down the grassy path. When he stopped again, Jane studied the markers, all of them telling their own stories.
Ambling along the rows in silence, Jane listened to the natural quiet of the surroundings: singing birds, snapping twigs and chirping crickets.
“Peaceful, isn’t it?” Paul said. “Sometimes when I’m thinking through a sermon, I walk here. Our past rises up to meet us, and we’re reminded of our finite world and God’s gift of eternity.” He shook his head. “Amazing.”
Jane paused and listened. “This is a peaceful place to think.”
“It’s so easy to lose sight of what’s important. We beat ourselves up for our wrongdoings and our weaknesses. Then I walk here and see that God’s given me a full, wonderful life, so I try not to moan about my problems.”
Jane looked at his sincere face as he stood beside her, and she was overwhelmed by awareness about her situation. How much time had she spent in remorse for the past rather than making the most of the present?
“I know Kyle gets upset,” he continued, guiding her down the path. “Violence doesn’t set well with me. Foolish. I know his work is to preserve order and justice. But I’m his father and frightened for him.”
Jane paused on the grassy path. “I’ve spent much of my adult life angry at my father for his career. In my eyes, he was a violent man. Fists and guns. Angry words and loud voices. The memories aren’t pleasant.”
“Your dad worked with the vice squad. He had a tough job. But his control always amazed me. Maybe he brought the problems home with him sometimes.”
Jane winced.
“But we all do that, Jane. I try to leave my worries with the Lord, but despite my good efforts, they follow me home sometimes.”
“You? I would think you’d have an easier time dealing with problems.”
“You think I have a special ‘in’ with the Lord because I’m a pastor?” Paul rested his hand on her shoulder and chuckled as they moved along. “No, we all have the same problems—our faith. And we’re all sinners, Jane. Me, your dad, you. No matter how hard we try, the human part of us wins out sometimes. Never grieve those moments of weakness. Ask, and you’ll be forgiven. Then be strong in the Lord.”
He paused, his eyes downcast. Jane looked near her feet at the flat grave marker. Paul Joseph Manning, Junior.
He crouched down and brushed the leaves away from the stone, his head bowed. Silence hovered on the air.
When Paul rose, he looked at Jane with misty eyes. “I have to listen to my own words, Jane. ‘Be strong in the Lord.’ Here’s where I grow weary. I long to have my son alive though I know he’s in a much better place than he could ever find here on earth. Your dad, too.”
Jane closed her eyes, hoping Paul was right. “And my mom. She died this summer.”
“Well, now, you have had your heartaches.” He slid a friendly arm around her shoulder, and they moved along toward the gate. “I suppose Ruth is fit to be tied. The roast will be ruined if we don’t get a move on.” They picked up their pace, passing the gray granite stones.
For the first time in years, Jane’s heart, sometimes as heavy as the grave markers, felt uplifted and hopeful.
Chapter Seven
With apprehension pulsing in his temple, Kyle glanced out the window one more time, wondering what was keeping his dad and Jane. How much sightseeing could two people do in a cemetery? He cringed, sensing his foolish jealousy. And over his father.
Finally the car pulled into the driveway. When Jane came through the door, she smiled, her hair breeze blown and her color heightened by the outdoors.
“Decided to come back?” he asked his father.
Paul clasped his son’s shoulder with a jovial shake. “Couldn’t think of anyplace else to go.”
He winked at Jane, and Kyle wondered if the wink had some hidden meaning. When his father headed to the kitchen, he asked. “So how was the walk? Okay?” He prayed his father hadn’t burdened her with the family concerns again.
“It was nice,” she said. “Your dad’s a good listener.”
He drew back. “What about me?”
“I’d rather do other things than talk when I’m with you.”
His concerns eased, and he slid his fingers through hers and led her into the living room. “So what did you talk about?”
“Who do you think you are? The police?” She shook her head.
“Just curious,” he said, realizing he’d been pushing her.
But she didn’t stop. Jane told him about the old gravestones and his brother’s marker, but before she offered details, his mother called them for dinner. It wasn’t until he was driving her home that she shared anything significant.
“Your dad gave me food for thought today,” she said, her expression concealed by the darkness.
A streetlight lit her face for a moment. Then once again she was in shadow.
He opened his mouth to ask what his father had said, then thought better of it. “That’s good.”
“He reminded me,” she volunteered, “that we spend much of our lives beating ourselves for the past, and in the process, we miss the present.” She turned to face him. “He’s right, you know.”
Kyle nodded, afraid to speak for fear she’d clam up again.
“He reminded me that we only need to ask God for forgiveness, and then move on with our lives. Good advice, huh?”
“Wonderful advice,” Kyle said, thanking God and his dad for the wisdom.
She looked out the passenger window, and he wondered what she was thinking. Silence wrapped around them, but thoughts clattered in his head.
The quiet between them made Kyle uneasy, and when he pulled into her driveway, he wondered if he should turn off the ignition or wait for an invitation to come in. He waited.
“Thanks for the nice day, Kyle,” she said.
Disappointed, he nodded. “It was nice.”
“I know it’s still early, but I have some classwork to finish.” She dropped back against the headrest. “I dread tomorrow.”
Kyle shifted to face her. “Why?”
“Oh, I have to arrange testing for Lena. Skylar hasn’t been too vocal lately, and I know this will drag his evil looks out of hiding.” In the light of her lawn lamp post, he saw her roll her eyes and toss him a wry grin.
Kyle chuckled.
She pushed against the handle, and Kyle jumped out and circled the car to walk her to the door.
“I forgot to tell you,” she said, when they reached the porch, “I called my friend Betsy. She’s the one married to Perry Jones.” She squinted at him. “Remember, I introduced you at the service station the night my tire was flat.”
“Right,” Kyle said, vaguely recalling the man.
“You should have heard us carrying on when I called. Squeals and nonstop conversation. I’m going to their house Friday night for pizza.”
“Friday?”
“You’re working, right?”
He nodded.
“I thought our first meeting, after all these years, would bore you. I’d like you to meet them sometime. You can learn more about my past.” Teasing, she whispered “past” with an eerie voice.
He laughed. “Hmm? Sounds very interesting.” He did his best Boris Karloff imitation.
Jane unlocked the front door, then turned. “Thanks again for the nice day.” She touched his arm. “Please don’t worry about your folks. I really like them. And I adore your mother’s cooking.”
“Thanks,” he said, sliding his arms around her waist and clasping them behind her. He drew her against him, her small frame dwarfed by his size.
She tilted her lips upward, and he accepted the invitation, this time with an urgency that surprised him. He fought the desire to cave in to his rising emotions and intensify the kiss. Tethering his yearning, he lightened the pressure and savored the softness of her full lips and the sighs exiting her throat.
When he eased back, she shifted a hairbreadth away from h
im and grinned. “I think it’s best that we’re saying good-night out here.”
“I can’t change your mind?” His words were a joke, but his heart longed for her to answer by drawing him into the house.
“Good night,” she said, her voice firm and unyielding as if she were talking with her third graders.
He chuckled. “I get the point, Teach. I don’t need to sit in the corner.”
She stepped through the doorway and closed the storm. He backed down the porch stairs, her delicate body a silhouette against the background light. When he climbed into his car, he drew in a faltering breath. She’d captured his heart. Now all he had to do was prove that she couldn’t let her prisoner go free.
Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt, Jane curled up in Betsy’s comfy armchair, waiting for her to return from putting the two boys to bed.
“So,” Betsy said, moving into the living room, “tell me about this fellow you’ve been seeing.”
Jane stared at the soft drink in her hand, wondering how much she wanted to tell Betsy. Be indifferent, she decided. “Well, the relationship’s new. We met when my classroom was vandalized. Then we ran into each other at a restaurant that same evening and he helped put air in my flat tires. That was the night I ran into Perry at the gas station.”
“Lucky you, huh?” Betsy said.
Perry came through the doorway and grinned. “She sure was lucky to see me.”
“Not you,” Betsy said as he plopped beside her. “She was lucky to be rescued again.”
“Again?” Jane’s mind flew back through their conversation. “Oh, the vandalism. Right. I was glad he was with me.” If only they knew how glad, she thought. But Jane didn’t want to explain the fears she’d been living with for the past weeks.
Perry gave her a grin. “It’s like old times, huh?”
“Sure is,” Jane said, remembering so many times in her teen years when the three of them sat together, laughing and eating pizza.
“I meant Kyle,” Perry said. “He’s like your dad. A cop.”
Her smile faltered, but she rustled it up again. “Yes, another cop.”
They laughed, and then Betsy returned to her original question. “So tell us about him.”
“Not that much more to tell. He’s been kind…and fun,” she said, filling them in on meeting his parents.
Perry flipped the lever on the recliner and tilted backward. “I’d hang on to him. He’s a nice guy with a good, steady job.”
Jane grappled with a response. “Oh, he’s great. But the work can be dangerous. I can’t help thinking of my dad. You know, the rough, tough cop.”
Betsy eyed her. “You felt that way about your dad, Jane. But don’t forget, your mom didn’t. She loved him. She must’ve seen a gentler side of him than you.”
The truth rang in her comment. “I know, but when I think of Kyle, I always drift back to those difficult days…and a lot of bad memories.”
“Sometimes memories are worse than the real thing,” Perry said, flipping the footrest down and leaning toward her. “I remember your dad. He never seemed that rough to me.”
“Or me,” Betsy added. “But we saw him differently, I suppose. I know my parents were always on their best behavior for company.”
Jane wondered what she meant. Betsy’s folks always seemed friendly and amiable. But then, so had her dad…with company.
Her friends would never know the truth. What bothered her were those private times, under stress, when he pounded his fists and ranted, taking his anger out on her mother. The yelling and foul language still rang in her ears.
Pulling herself from her thoughts, Jane looked into her old friends’ expectant faces. “You’re probably right. And Kyle is a whole different person. I have to work it out.”
The conversation turned to other topics, and Jane finally rose to leave, promising they’d get together soon.
As she pulled away from their house, an urge hit her. Talking with them had brought the primer to mind. Kyle had studied it, but she hadn’t.
Instead of heading home, she decided to drive to the school. A janitor would probably be in the building until his shift ended at eleven. She had a few minutes to stop by and pick up the old textbook. Over the weekend, she’d look through it herself.
A lone car remained in the dark parking lot, and when Jane turned off the motor, her mind shot back to the evening Skylar had surprised her there. Her pulse escalated as she climbed from the car, and she glanced around the shadowy entrance, then steeled herself against her foolish fears.
Despite the words of assurance rolling in her head, she dashed for the back entrance while glancing over her shoulder. When her hand clasped the handle, she was relieved the door was unlocked.
Inside, a strange eeriness settled over her in the familiar surroundings. She’d never had occasion to be in the building alone at night, and in the morgue-like quiet, she peered down the dim hallway before heading for her classroom.
Her rubber soles made a muffled thud in the silence. Amid the hush, a few dimmed lights seemed to hum with electricity. She turned into a darker corridor, and a fearful dread shivered through her. She berated herself for her foolishness.
At her classroom door, she turned the knob. Locked. Good sign. She felt safer. She used the key and stepped inside. To avoid alarming the lone custodian, she ignored the light switch and allowed her eyes to adjust to the dusky room.
The primer was in the bottom drawer, and she darted to her desk and snatched it out, releasing her pent-up breath. Success.
When she straightened, a shadow covered her as a hand grabbed her arm. Her scream froze in her throat, and her knees buckled when a stick rose above her head.
“No,” she yelled, grabbing the desk for support.
The hand released her. “Wh-what are you d-doing here?” The shadowy figure stumbled backward.
Though she recognized her assailant, her body didn’t recover as quickly. She clung to the desk for stability, her blood coursing through her veins. “Charlie…what—what are you doing?”
In the dim light, his face was as white and frightened as she imagined her own.
“M-Miss Conroy. I—I thought…you we-were…another one of those va-vandals.”
“I’m sorry.” Giving way to her shaking legs, she sank into her desk chair. “I dropped by to pick up something I’d forgotten. I should have called out.”
Clutching the broomstick, he peered at her in the darkness. “S-sure didn’t hear you.” He gestured toward the door. “And n-no light.”
Her quivering hand rested against her constricted chest while the other gripped the book. “I thought I’d be in and out.”
Charlie rested his palm on her shoulder, his fingers brushing her hair. She faltered, trying to grasp what he was doing.
He bent over and looked into her face. “Y-you okay?”
She forced a chuckle, flinging her head to one side. Her hair pulled from his grasp. “I think we scared each other, don’t you?”
“N-no one could be sc-scared of you. You—you’re a pr-pretty lady, M-Miss Conroy.” He patted her shoulder, then stepped back.
Her heart pounded. She ached to escape. When she rose, her knees wavered for a moment like sea legs.
With the primer pressed against her chest, he peered at the title.
“D-Dick and Jane.” His mouth hung in a loose grin. “That was m-my reading book.” He pointed to the cover.
“What?” she said, her pitch rising. “This book is yours?” Fear nailed her to the spot.
“N-not that book,” he drawled. “One j-just like it, though.”
Innocent? Guilty? Uncontrollable confusion soared through her like seagulls at a picnic. The poor man was as rattled as she was. Taking a step forward to test her quaking knees, she said good-night and tore from the building, leaving Charlie to nurse a case of jitters as absurd as her own.
When she arrived home, her earlier panic etched a ludicrous picture in her mind. She scanned the prim
er, finding only what Kyle had already mentioned. Weary, she tucked the book in a drawer and climbed into bed.
The next morning, Jane woke and watched the sunlight lay patterns against her bedroom wall. Saturday was her favorite day. She pulled on her robe and went to the kitchen to brew the coffee. Flinging open the back door, the warm Indian summer weather brightened her spirits.
Kyle had suggested a picnic at the Franklin Cider Mill, and Jane thought about what she might bring along. She ate her toast, then carried the coffee cup into the bedroom. She hadn’t been to a cider mill in years, and the memory conjured up the aroma of the crushed apples and the sweet taste of the crispy fried doughnuts.
She showered and dressed in jeans, a green and beige knit pullover along with a pair of comfortable walking shoes, hoping she and Kyle would have time to meander along the millstream bank or through the wooded area after lunch.
Looking out at the cloudless sky, Jane pulled out a lightweight jacket, just in case, and headed into the kitchen to prepare some food. Finished, she waited by the front window with her contribution for the picnic, and when Kyle arrived, she scooted out the door.
The Franklin Mill reminded Jane of the Redmond Community Church property. The mill lay nestled in a natural, woodsy glen along a winding stream, not far from the sprawling city. With the warm October sun heavy on the air, the scent of moist earth and pungent aged leaves filled the breeze, and Jane inhaled the aroma as she stepped from the car.
Heading toward the mill, Kyle held her hand, and they followed the stream until the frothing water caught on the mill paddles like strands of iridescent ribbon, then spilled back into the creek in a foaming splash.
The picnic tables were crowded with people nibbling on doughnuts and candy apples. Kyle tucked Jane’s hand more firmly in his, and they worked their way to the long line where the heavy scent of apple pulp filled the air.
A bee whizzed past Jane’s eyes and tangled in her hair. “Get it out,” she yelled, feeling the bee droning near her scalp. She shook her head like a hairy wet dog.
“If you’d quit wiggling, I could,” Kyle said, trying to hold her head in place.
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