“Food's on,” Jeremy elaborated needlessly, since the aroma of grilling hot dogs and hamburgers permeated the air. “C'mon. Let's eat. I'm starved.”
“Like that's news?” Marty quipped, though he dumped his work supplies and stood to stretch.
But Collin remained lost to his thoughts, watching Sandy and Daveny as Pastor Ken took his leave from the freshly completed pond area. And a memory took hold.
“It's almost finished now, and I'm so excited! It's being called Parishioner's Bridge.” Daveny lingered over dessert and coffee after the dinner following the class presentation. She took delight in the idea. “Everyone seems to have taken to the idea we have of the bridge being a physical testimony to the impact of those who worship at Woodland, past and present, which is everything I had hoped for when we came up with the idea for it.”
Hope. God. Her belief in both lit Daveny from the inside out. Collin wondered, not for the first time since being in her company, what it would feel like to once again capture that kind of conviction for himself. Out of habit, he shook off the silky promise of that idea.
Instead, he stood and made his way to the area of the grounds where a barbecue was underway and attracting volunteers in droves. Tables were set up and stocked with things like fruit salad, veggies and dip, cookies and chips.
He needed to clean up before eating, though. He turned back and followed a group of people inside to wash up. He blew out a puff of air, rolling his shoulders, a sense of internal pressure on the rise. It was time for him to explain—everything—to Daveny. Circumstances seemed to be converging on him all at once and needed to be dealt with: the advent of a lovely, wonderful woman in his life; Sandy's return to Detroit; Woodland's renovation and all of its emotional ties to Lance; and, by far, the worst moment of Collin's life.
Once in the main building, the entrance to the church itself caused him to pause. The double wooden doors were open, as if in welcome or perhaps a predestined invitation.
Since all the activity was happening outside, the church proper was empty and dimly illuminated. Backlit by the afternoon sun, the rich hues of the stained glass glowed, casting patterns on the dark gray carpeting.
Collin walked inside without being fully conscious of it until he started to tremble. The nearer he got to the altar, the more his knees threatened to weaken and give way. He made it about halfway down the rows of pews before figuring he'd come close enough.
He slid into place and sat, looking around. So much was the same. To welcome summer, flowers adorned the altar, lending a subtle scent to the air. The colorful bouquets lent a contrast of vibrant color to the simple white walls.
“Collin. How are you?”
Collin closed his eyes and drew a fortifying breath. Despite years of distance, he knew that voice.
“Hi, Pastor Ken.”
“I'll leave you to prayer or meditation if you'd like.”
Pastor Ken started to turn, but before doing so he gave Collin a welcoming smile. He offered nothing beyond that simple greeting.
Therefore, Collin could only assume he had picked up on the underlying current of disquiet in his salutation. That made Collin feel bad. After all, his problems weren't Pastor Ken's fault. “I don't mind. How...ah...how are you?”
“I'm well. Excited about the improvements, obviously.”
Pastor Ken's smile was as warm and compelling as ever. The church leader had been a tremendous source of support to Collin's family at the time of Lance's death, onward to this day—but Collin had stepped away. He had seen no other path to take. What would this man of God make of that?
The wooden pew creaked comfortably when Pastor Ken sat next to him. Black attire, white collar, kind, inquiring eyes—everything about him spoke of approachability and kindness. “I’ll be glad when the project is finished. Being in limbo is never fun.”
“Yeah. I can imagine.” Awkwardness skittered through Collin, but Pastor Ken seemed content and at ease.
“I notice you’ve been pitching in over the past few weeks, Collin. We appreciate it. It’s been nice to see you around.”
Was there underlying sentiment to that comment? Collin looked briefly into the pastor’s eyes and found nothing but sincerity, no calculating judgments or pressure. “I’ve enjoyed it.”
“Daveny is a remarkable talent when it comes to stuff like this. Me? I don’t know potting soil from mulch.”
That left Collin laughing spontaneously since he could completely relate. “I'm the same way, but I had some muscle that could be put to good use. No big deal.”
“It is to her, and it is to us.” Pastor Ken started to stand, and the oddest compulsion took over Collin. A compulsion to confession.
“Sorry I haven't been around, it's...it's not about you or Woodland itself.”
Pastor Ken sat back down. “I realize that Collin. You need to make peace. In your own time and in your own way.”
“You're not...angry?”
“How could I be? What you feel, what you go through, is between you and God. I'd never force the issue. Though I will say I've put considerable prayer time into your name, my friend.”
Somehow, for some reason, that left Collin feeling good.
“If...if I told you...” Collin stopped right there. This wasn't a good time to approach Pastor Ken, to follow through on this sudden and startling need to come clean. Pastor Ken was busy; the church was bustling and Collin felt sure any number of people needed his counsel and assistance at the moment. “Never mind.” This time Collin stood to leave.
Pastor Ken stretched out his long, lean legs and settled an arm along the back of the pew. And he waited.
“I have all the time in the world, Collin. I hope...I really hope you can find the strength to finally stop running.”
His words packed enough power to sink Collin back to the seat.
“I need to know...if I say something...I mean, I know this isn't a confessional, but...”
“It's just as sacred. If you want assurances that I won't divulge anything you say to me in confidence, I can offer that to you without hesitation.” For emphasis, and most likely to offer Collin a bit of time to gather his thoughts, Pastor Ken went to the doors and pulled them quietly closed.
After that, Collin's words poured out freely into the Pastor’s safekeeping.
Collin told him everything—his responsibility with regard to Lance, the pain he felt over hiding the truth from his family and regret over hurting Sandy and leaving her to feel withdrawn in her own place of worship. Collin even talked about his burgeoning feelings for Daveny.
“You fear Daveny's disappointment?”
Pastor Ken sounded genuinely surprised, so Collin enlightened him. “I could never—ever—stand the idea of Daveny looking at me through different eyes—through eyes that see my scars and my worst possible elements. Same holds true with my family, to be honest.”
“You feel that strongly about her.”
It wasn’t a question. It didn’t need to be framed as such.
So Collin nodded, but he felt lost within that admission.
“Collin, do you see that perhaps that degree of feeling is also part of the reason why you turned away from God? You were scared of the scars?”
No censure or reprimand could be detected in that statement—try, though Collin might. Then it would be easy to retreat and refocus himself on bitterness and regret and that soul-tying shame. But, he did find enough ire to say, “I turned away from God because He turned away from me first. He's shown me clearly that He doesn’t need Collin Edwards. I’m insignificant. God ignored me. God allowed that horrible wrong, that waste! Furthermore, the reasons for it fall squarely on my stupidity, my lack of…of…”
“Collin, stand back far enough, with enough clarity of mind to grant another truth—the truth that your heart was in the right place. You meant no harm! You wanted good. You wanted to help. That needs to count somewhere in your scale of justice.”
“Not given the end result. Instead of goo
d, I caused nothing but disaster. Why have faith after that? Why hope for goodness? Where was my faithful God? Why didn’t He intervene? Why didn’t He see fit to keep Lance alive? It’s left such a hole in our family, in…in…”
“In your heart.”
“Yes.” No way would Collin ever deny that fact. “And I want it to go away, Pastor Ken, but it never does.”
Those last whispered words faded to silence and Collin rested his head in the open cup of his hands. He felt completely drained.
“Has it occurred to you that perhaps Daveny has become the answer to that plea? That God sent her to you for just that purpose?”
“But she’s…she’s like…like an ideal to me. She’s what I’d strive for, if only I didn’t, or hadn’t…”
“Please stop. Right there.” Pastor Ken earned Collin's full gaze and attention. And he wasn’t doing the warm and fuzzy any longer. “Don’t put her into a category she can never live up to or you’ll both end up disappointed. Don’t make her more than she is. She’s a human being with the same hopes and fears and dreams and scars as everyone else. But at the same time, recognize her impact on your life. You need to let her in, and you need to let your family in or this will keep eating you alive.”
Collin thought about that for a moment. “I know they'll change toward me. Once they know about my part in Lance’s death, things will change. I don't want that! As for Daveny, I’m not saying she’d back away, or not feel compassion. She’s too full of love and optimism and hope for such a thing. The same holds true for my whole family. In a way, I feel trapped. That night damaged me. My family would ultimately rally around me, I know that. But Daveny? She possesses too much brightness for someone like me to drag her down. I can't seem to reconcile myself.”
“Then you grossly underestimate her, and your own goodness. That's a grave disservice to you both. Look what she’s done for you already. Do you honestly think that will end? Or change? I don’t, because I know Daveny well enough to realize she doesn’t give her heart away unless it’s completely and with one hundred percent conviction to go along with it. I see it in church nearly every week. And I’ll warn you again not to hold her up to idealism. She struggles, too, Collin.”
A pause settled between them for a time. Collin absorbed that silence, letting it balm his jangled nerves. “I feel so much. I feel anger, bitterness, love, loss, guilt. Shame most of all…”
“That’s a lot of negativity pushing at you. Let it go.”
“I’ve done so well ’til now keeping it at bay.”
“Do you think? I’m not so sure.”
Collin speared Pastor Ken with a wry look. Pastor Ken just grinned.
“She’s opening you up, Collin. She’s setting you free. That's God at work. Don't fight it. You can’t run or hide from Him, so stop trying. Instead, turn to the love you’ll find. God is, and always will be, right there waiting for you.”
His definitive inflection won Collin's attention once more. The words of Daveny's presentation, of time and seasons and circumstances not being bullied, played through his mind.
“Let your family help heal you, and let Daveny have your heart. You won't regret it.”
That was a step forward Collin couldn’t quite make. Not yet. He couldn’t face the guilt he felt; the anger and bitterness still tasted powerful enough to cling to. After all, its pattern was familiar.
Collin didn’t mean to be rude, but he needed to leave. Suddenly the church interior felt claustrophobic and overly warm. He stood somewhat abruptly and nodded at Pastor Ken, who watched him in a steady, unresisting manner.
“Thanks, Pastor Ken. I…I should be going, but...thanks. I appreciate hearing what you have to say.”
Without waiting for a reply Collin walked up the main aisle and out the doors into a blinding, bright sunlit day.
Good. He could blame stinging, watery eyes on the elements.
10
To be completely honest, despite back-breaking work, Daveny couldn't help cracking up, and Kiara joined right in. What a pair of planting pros. Not.
“Forget the manicure for five minutes and push down, Kiara! The roots need to be buried deep!”
Daveny bullied the trunk of a rose bush while Kiara exerted pressure, wedging the roots securely and as far down into the dirt as possible.
Sandy Pierson stepped up, offering readily, “Let me help.”
After performing introductions, Pastor Ken had left the group a few minutes ago, and to her credit, the WWJ Radio personality, having finished mingling with the volunteers, launched into action and chipped right in. Daveny liked her already. What wasn't to love about a media person who was willing to give the Woodland project free publicity plus a day's worth of work?
Crouching, utilizing her shoulder as a brace, Sandy helped Daveny prop and position the trunk. Then she reached down to help Kiara bury the roots.
“Thanks.” Daveny encouraged, “Teamwork saves the day.”
Sandy smiled up at her. “You're welcome. Learned long ago that authentic story coverage requires a bit of dirt and sweat.”
“No doubt,” Kiara quipped, giving their new teammate a grin.
Church members dug shovels deep into a pile of planting soil to the left, filling in the ground and mounding the dirt to a soft rise soon to be polished off by a perimeter of fieldstones.
“I started attending church here again a few weeks ago. I remember Jim Cavanaugh. When I heard he bequeathed part of his estate to Woodland, I wanted his story to be told,” Sandy said.
Daveny helped her wriggle and till and bury.
“The segment I imagine will be a two minute overview, with interviews. I’d love your help with that, as well as Pastor Ken's, and some of the volunteers, too.”
“What a great gesture to the church, Sandy,” Daveny replied, thinking, Impressive. So, Sandy has a history here. Daveny looked at Kiara and received her agreeing nod. “We're on board if you need anything.”
“Thanks. This particular Spotlight feature might be a bit biased, but that can't be helped. This was my church home for years before I moved to Chicago. It feels good to be back.”
Her eyes strayed. Her attention moved to the front of the church. A short time ago, when the flowerbeds were being finished off by Collin and his brothers, Daveny had noticed the way Sandy watched. Collin had gone inside briefly but had returned now to join his family for a meal break; once again Sandy focused on him. The entire Edwards clan was freshly seated on and around a vivid gingham blanket set with food and beverages.
Daveny intended to join them, so she offered, “Let's break for lunch. We can work on the rock border afterward.”
Sandy turned as though abruptly jarred from her revelry. “Ah...sure. That'd be great. I'm supposed to meet up with Pastor Ken.”
She’d answered, somewhat quickly Daveny felt, especially when she noticed the way Sandy continued to study Collin and his family. Her actions left Daveny puzzled enough to inquire: “Do you know the Edwards family?”
Sandy shrugged, nearly accomplishing a posture of nonchalance. “They're regulars here. A long-time part of Woodland. I might interview them.”
Sandy's attitude was almost businesslike, but Daveny noticed her dark hazel eyes were vulnerable and guarded. Intuition told Daveny that Sandy possessed an affiliation to the Edwards family. But how?
“I want to interview you and Kiara as well. After all, you're the architects of this masterpiece.”
They took off for the food line. But Daveny couldn't help noticing two things. First, Sandy hadn't answered her question. Second, in passing the Edwards' spot on the lawn, Sandy gave them a wide berth.
****
Something rode beneath the surface of Collin's mood. A subtle degree of tension rolled off him, sliding over Daveny. Lunchtime brought them together after working apart for the bulk of the morning. He remained pleasant and warm, but a layer of disquiet that Daveny could all but feel worked like static against her nerves.
Sandy, Kiara a
nd Pastor Ken linked up with a group of volunteers not far away. Daveny noticed his furtive glances, the subtle squeeze of tension between his brows when he looked at Sandy. He chatted with Daveny, with his brothers and sisters; he horsed around with the myriad of nieces and nephews who toppled all over him. But eyes mirrored the soul—and those mirrors kept track of Sandy—his mouth uncharacteristically set into a tight, straight line.
Being welcomed so warmly into the fold of the Edwards family helped redirect her thoughts, though. Daveny enjoyed getting to know the extended family a bit better, but bodily refreshment barely kicked in before work called once more.
During lunch Daveny had idly mentioned needing some spare muscle to place and secure the circle of perimeter stones by the bridge. Collin didn't say much in reply, but when the break finished, he trailed Daveny to the freshly planted rose bush, which gave her a needed psychological boost.
They went to work, Collin settling the weighty stones firmly into place. Daveny knelt next to him and preceded his efforts by grooming the ground then digging out suitable space within which to nestle the rocks. They created the circle in silence, conversations humming around them, laughter and the dash and squeal of playing children a soothing backdrop.
After a time, the sun became scorching, so she plucked two water bottles from a passing volunteer. Daveny handed one to Collin, finally venturing, “You're working like a man on a mission. Wish I had more of a reward for you.”
The water bottle traveled from her grip to his and he drank deeply.
“No problem. Besides, good works are a reward unto themselves, right?”
His tone and attitude verified her suspicion that he was troubled. His words provided the perfect opening to conduct just a bit of probing. “Is that what you believe?”
Hearts Crossing (Woodland) Page 6