Kate nodded in interest. “So what do you do for the company?”
Andrew shrugged his shoulders, arms folded across his chest. “A bit of everything, I guess. Honestly, it’s probably just a temporary thing. I needed a change of pace, and my uncle’s been kind enough to help me out the past few months.”
“What did you do before you starting working for your uncle?”
Andrew was quiet for a moment before finally answering her question. “I was an architect . . . working for a firm in Virginia. It’s sort of complicated. Let’s just say we didn’t exactly part ways on the most amicable of terms.”
“That’s got to be tough,” Kate said.
“I don’t know. I’d been thinking about going out on my own for a while anyway. I expect that’s what I’ll do eventually.”
There was a slight edge to his voice, a distance in his tone indicating to Kate further probing would yield few results. Kate could tell he was uncomfortable, and though she was curious about whatever details might be hidden beyond the front page of Andrew’s story, she didn’t push him.
“Hey, you probably went to school with some of my cousins—Dan’s kids. They grew up here too,” Andrew said.
“Oh gosh! Tracy Spencer. I remember now. Her dad sponsored our summer swim team. We had Spencer Contracting written on the sides of our swim caps.”
Andrew smiled. “Yeah, Tracy was a swimmer. And then her younger brothers . . .”
“Bradley and Ben.” Kate finished his sentence. “Twins, weren’t they? They were on the team too. Man! How is Tracy? I haven’t thought about her for years.”
“She’s good,” Andrew answered. “She’s married, has four kids. She’s living in Idaho, in Twin Falls.”
“Idaho? What on earth took her there?”
“Her husband is from Idaho. He works with the family business, I think, so that’s where they ended up.”
“Wow, four kids. That’s hard to believe. I always liked Tracy. She was always so nice to everybody, and she swam a killer anchor leg for our 4x100 relay.” Kate pulled the sleeves of her hooded jacket down around her fingers. The sky, though clear when her run began, was now full of clouds, the air turning chilly.
“Yeah, that sounds like Tracy. Wait.” Andrew paused, voice filled with sudden enthusiasm. “When Tracy’s high school relay team went to state, you were on her team?”
“I swam lead leg,” Kate answered, smiling at the memory.
“I saw you swim, then. I was there, watching with my family when you guys won. My family drove over from Charlotte for the meet.”
“All the way from Charlotte to Raleigh? You guys must be really close.” Kate was incredulous. It seemed like a big thing for a family to do—an extended family from a different town—to drive all that distance.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Andrew said casually. “You know how family is.”
Kate was quiet. She wasn’t sure she really did know how family was. She certainly didn’t seem very good at keeping things up with her own.
“How’d the house painting go?”
“It’s finished,” Kate said, “much to my delight.”
“Wow. I need to hire you to paint my house,” Andrew said.
“Very funny,” she said. “I hired someone in the end. I’d still be painting had I tried to do the whole thing myself.”
“Much easier that way, for sure,” he agreed. “It was your house, then, that you were painting?”
“It was my aunt Mary’s. I didn’t expect it. She actually has children that I thought would have inherited . . .” Kate’s words were nearing dangerously emotional territory. “I’m not sure why it’s mine,” she said simply. “But it is.”
“And I’m sure it looks lovely with a new coat of paint,” Andrew said. Kate was grateful that he didn’t push for more information. Their conversation continued as they wound around the dusty roads of the valley. There was little traffic, little to interrupt the steady flow of conversation, the light laughter.
As they walked, Kate told Andrew about her work, about her home in Atlanta, about her cousins and her aunt Linny. Andrew told Kate about his family, how he grew up in Charlotte but often spent summers vacationing in Rose Creek. His family owned a cabin there, where he was staying now. With all of their talking, Andrew did not provide further details about why he’d left Virginia for Rose Creek, though he admitted he’d only been there just shy of a year. Kate was curious and casually probed into what prompted his move, but Andrew staunchly avoided the subject. It wasn’t difficult to see that whatever his reasons for leaving his previous home, they were not something he wanted to discuss. Just the same, he was very easy to talk to, and Kate felt strangely comfortable in his presence, even though their acquaintance had been so short.
When Kate was dating Steve, he had always been careful how he said things in conversation, not because he was concerned about those around him but because he was constantly worried about how things made him look. But Andrew was different. He seemed to be aptly tuned into Kate’s emotional barometer—his words not measured against his own comfort but against hers. There was a certain peace about him—a quiet confidence that was thoroughly intriguing. Kate didn’t want their walk to end.
The clouds overhead rumbled a low but distinct warning, and the two decided they were better served by less talking and more running. Kate had no idea where Andrew’s run had originated that morning, but the air was ominously thick and heavy with moisture. Since they had been walking in the general direction of the farmhouse, Kate motioned for Andrew to follow her home in hopes of finding shelter before the rain began. They were a half mile out when it started. It came with such force that by the time they reached the house, they were soaked to the skin.
They climbed the steps to the porch, laughing as they tried to catch their breath. Kate looked at Andrew, drops of rain clinging to his eyelashes and trickling down the end of his nose. Andrew ran his fingers back and forth through his hair, flinging water all over the porch and all over Kate.
“Good thing you’re already wet.” He grinned. They stood there looking at one another, eyes suddenly held by the other’s gaze. While her breathing slowed as she recovered from their run, Kate’s heart continued to race. Andrew looked great standing there, clinging wet T-shirt showing off the wiry definition of his chest and shoulders. Kate wouldn’t deny a physical attraction, but in that moment, what she felt went far beyond the physical. She wasn’t ignorant enough to call it love. She’d only just met the man. But some connection, some mystifying force of gravity, was pulling her in, grasping tiny pieces of her soul, and one by one, tying them to his.
“You must have run through a mud puddle,” Andrew said gently, hesitating just slightly before he raised his hand and ran his finger across a smudge of dirt on Kate’s cheek. His hand lingered on the square of her jaw. Kate’s heart quickened, an echo of the pulse beating visibly in the hollow of Andrew’s throat. They stood there, frozen in the intensity of the moment, and listened to the rain pounding on the metal roof of the porch overhead. Kate remembered words she’d read in Ian’s journal the night before when describing his relationship with his wife: Our souls are bound, hers and mine . . . our hearts beating as one.
Just as suddenly as the storm had started, the rain slowed and softened. Andrew tore his gaze away from Kate and shook his head as if to work himself out of a trance. He stepped away from Kate and took a deep, audible breath.
“I have to go,” he said simply.
“What?” Kate questioned, glancing quickly around her to see if something triggered his retreat. “You can’t run home soaking wet. Let me get you a towel, and then I can drive you home.”
Andrew thanked her for the offer but insisted he was fine and hastily took off down the driveway. Kate shook her head as she watched him disappear around a curve and into the trees.
Kate went inside and headed upstairs. There wasn’t an inch of her that wasn’t saturated with rain. A long soak in a warm bathtub was exactly wh
at her body needed, but it was going to take more than warm water to make sense of her thoughts. She couldn’t shake the image of Andrew’s hasty retreat from her front porch. He had wanted to kiss her. She was nearly certain of that. The moment had been perfect, the charge in the air almost visible. And then he’d left.
As she slid into the tub, the frustrating scene replayed over and over in her mind. Clearly, he was running away from something. But what?
Kate soaked until the water started to cool, and then she climbed from the tub. As she wrapped her hair in a towel, she thought again of the words from Ian’s journal that had punctuated the moment she’d experienced with Andrew. She slipped into her bathrobe and padded down to her bedroom, where she found the journal and flipped to the entry she had read the night before.
14 November 1826
I know many a man marries for convenience, for practicality rather than love. I respect the necessity for these unions, but, oh, how grateful I am that I married for love. I love Jennie more every day. We’ve only just begun our journey together, yet I already fear what my life would be without her. I pray that God will give us many beautiful years together, and though I know not what the next life will hold, perhaps God may be merciful and allow her to be mine into eternity as well. Jennie knows me like no other . . . deals with my moods, tempers my spirit. Our souls are bound, hers and mine . . . our hearts beating as one.
It was ridiculous to even consider such love when thinking about Andrew. They’d only just met. But there was something there—something different from anything Kate had ever experienced before.
Chapter 15
Kate put the journal back on her nightstand and pulled her favorite blue jeans out of the bottom of her suitcase. She should probably unpack. Three weeks was too long to live out of a suitcase, but she decided she would have to do it later. The warmth of the bathtub and her early-morning run had completely sapped her energy. Feeling wickedly indulgent, she pulled on her jeans and an old sweatshirt and stretched out on her bed to take a nap.
She was startled awake when the doorbell rang.
Kate looked at the clock on her nightstand and realized she’d been asleep for three hours. It was just past noon, too early for Leslie to be arriving. Besides, Leslie wouldn’t have knocked. Kate hurried downstairs, wondering who could be at the door. For a moment, she hoped it was Andrew, come to explain his hasty departure and ask her to dinner. But then she caught a glance of herself in the mirror that hung at the foot of the stairs. Maybe she didn’t want it to be Andrew after all. She looked very much like she’d just woken up, her eyes heavy with sleep and her face pale. She pinched her cheeks and rubbed her eyes, then pulled her hair into a messy ponytail. The improvement was only minimal, but when the doorbell rang for a second time, she decided her appearance would have to do.
Instead of Andrew, she found two men, or boys rather, standing at her door. Kate immediately took them to be representatives from some sort of church—probably Jehovah’s Witnesses come to tell her about some event they would like her to attend. They’d visited her at her home in Atlanta as well. She would take the pamphlet they would offer and send them on their way. She stood with her hand still on the knob of the large wood door and, without opening the screen door, said hello.
The tallest one spoke first. “Hello,” he smiled broadly. “I’m Elder Christianson, and this is Elder Peterson. We are missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we are hoping we can share a message with you about Jesus Christ and His gospel. Would it be all right if we come in?”
That wasn’t what Kate had expected. “I, um, I don’t know. What church did you say you were from?”
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” the missionary responded. “A lot of people know us as the Mormons?”
“Mormons? Really? There are Mormons in Rose Creek?” Kate had certainly heard of the religion, had even known a few Mormons when she’d been in college, but here . . . in Rose Creek? It was such a small town.
The missionary smiled at her reaction. “We get that a lot. There aren’t many of us, but, yes. There are Mormons in Rose Creek.”
Kate knew very little about the Mormons—only what she had learned from the media, which wasn’t all that much.
“I’m sorry,” Kate said. “I appreciate you coming by, but I’m not really interested. Thank you though.” Kate stepped back, not wanting to shut the door in their faces but wanting to be clear about how she felt.
The missionary who had spoken, Elder Christianson, looked at his companion and briefly shook his head. They looked back at her, showing no sign of departure.
Kate sighed. “Good-bye, then,” she said with a little more emphasis as she pushed the heavy door closed—except it wouldn’t close. The door bounced off the dead bolt that had somehow twisted open to prevent the door from latching into place. Kate caught the door and untwisted the dead bolt, shocked to see the two young men still standing on the other side of the screen. She went to close the door again but stopped as Elder Christianson, trembling with nerves, started to speak.
“Ma’am, Jesus Christ has restored His Church. He has called apostles, who live and serve today under proper authority, to lead His Church and teach the true gospel of Jesus Christ. There has been a restoration—a unification of purpose and spirit. May we please share our message?”
Kate froze. She had heard those words before. This man she’d never seen or spoken to in her life was repeating the very words she had read in Ian’s journal. He had mentioned a restoration—a unification of purpose and spirit. Those were his words. She walked onto the porch and gently pulled the door closed behind her.
“Maybe we could just sit here on the porch,” she said softly, motioning for them to join her.
Chapter 16
“I don’t understand,” Kate said, looking at the missionaries—elders, they called themselves—sitting in front of her. “If this church, this restoration you speak of, is what Roger Williams was waiting for, what my ancestor Ian Wylie was waiting for . . . if this is it, the real deal, so to speak, why isn’t it being shouted from the rooftops? Why aren’t people all over the world jumping on the bandwagon, Christians everywhere recognizing it for the truth that it is?”
Elder Christianson leaned forward and looked at Kate, focused and sincere. “That’s a great question, Ms. Sinclair. Remember that in many respects, it is being shouted from the rooftops. All over the world, thousands of missionaries like Elder Peterson and me are taking the message of the gospel to any and all who are willing to listen, and many have accepted and embraced it. But there must be opposition in all things. People follow the traditions and beliefs of their fathers, they question change, shy away from anything that challenges what they’ve believed in the past, anything that may require their lives to be different. It’s human nature to do so.”
Elder Christianson looked at Elder Peterson, nodding his head in encouragement. Kate could tell he seemed more at ease in his role as a missionary and thought perhaps he had been preaching a bit longer than his companion. Yet when Elder Peterson spoke, he had a quiet simplicity to his explanations that resonated with Kate. She found it easy to accept and believe his heartfelt words.
“Remember that when Jesus Christ walked the earth, there was still great opposition. People saw the miracles, saw Jesus raise the dead, heal the sick and afflicted, and yet, some still didn’t believe He was the Son of God. They refused to see what they did not want to see.”
“So how do I know?” Kate asked. “How do I see?”
“You ask,” Elder Christianson responded. “We told you of Joseph Smith, of his desire to know what God would have him do. He read the verses in the Bible that said, ‘If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not.’ So he prayed to ask God what he should do. Just as God gave Joseph an answer, He will give you an answer too.” He reached for the Book of Mormon he had given Kate earlier in their discussion and flipp
ed to the back, looking for a particular scripture.
“And here, in the Book of Mormon, the prophet Moroni makes a promise that if you read these words with sincerity and a full purpose of heart, God will reveal the truthfulness of it to you.” He read, “‘And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.’”
Kate took a deep breath and leaned back in her rocking chair.
“Ms. Sinclair—Kate?” She had insisted they call her Kate, but neither seemed capable of doing so. Did she really seem that much older than they were? Elder Peterson leaned forward to ask her a question. “Do you ever pray?”
Kate looked down at her hands. It wasn’t that she hadn’t thought of praying, especially this past week, with all that had happened, but it seemed such a foreign concept to her. To think that God would listen, would hear her, when so many better suited to the act were out there praying all the time—it didn’t seem right for her to try.
“I . . . no. Not really,” she finally said.
She listened as the elders taught her about prayer, giving her simple advice about what she could say and how she could address her Heavenly Father. Then they encouraged her to read the Book of Mormon and pray to ask to know if it was true.
The familiar chime of the old grandfather clock in the front room of the farmhouse reminded Kate that she’d been sitting on the porch with the missionaries for nearly two hours.
“I should let you go,” she said, glancing at her watch as she stood up. “I didn’t realize we’d been talking so long.”
“We don’t mind a bit,” Elder Peterson assured her.
“We’d like to invite you to church next Sunday. Would you be willing to come?” Elder Christianson asked as he gathered together his things.
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