She stiffened at his reference, but then breathed out some of her anger on a sigh.
“Comfort my girl. Take this burden she keeps holding, a burden too big for her to carry, and drench her hatred with your sweet mercies. Overwhelm her with your presence so she will see the goodness of your hands and the greatness of your love. And...”
The hitch in his voice pierced her so deeply, a fresh wave of tears warmed her eyes.
“And, Father, give her the strength to forgive the unforgiveable so that she can be free from bitterness. Open her eyes.”
She pulled back and looked up at him. “Open my eyes?”
His palm bushed away another tear. “Oh, honey, grief and anger make us blind. You’re so busy staring at your empty hand, you’ve failed to see how full the other one is.”
He squeezed her shoulders and offered his own teary-eyed grin. “We all miss your mama, but her strength is still alive in you. Her courage is too.” He kissed her forehead. “You’re braver than you think you are.”
Jess looked down at the trail, her heart wrestling for peace, for truth.
“I’m going to go on back and help your granny with the young’uns. Why don’t you take a little while and come on home when you’re ready?”
She nodded.
“And maybe you can bring in a few of them apples on your way back. I bet we can convince your granny to cook up some apple turnovers for breakfast. They always made you feel a little better when you were small.”
Jess grinned and wiped at her nose like a little girl. “They did have some magical qualities to them.”
“What would she say about those sour apples and her dessert?” He looked up at the sky. “Some sour and some sweet...”
“Make this apple treat complete,” Jessica finished.
He raised a brow and gave her shoulder a final squeeze. “Food for thought, I’d say.”
With that, he walked away, disappearing behind the curve in the path toward home.
She couldn’t recall how long she stayed there among the flowers and squirrels, waiting for a peace she used to know but which lingered just beyond her grasp. What did her grandfather mean by her hand being full?
She looked down at her left hand. A residual scar from the explosion made a curve from her wrist to the middle of her palm. She’d lost friends, almost lost her brother, lost a piece of her innocence, lost a friend in childbirth, lost her ability to walk without a limp or hear well from one ear. She turned over her right palm and looked at it, the hand smooth and unhindered by the effects of war. What did she have left?
She balled up her fist and stared upward. Paint strokes of white clouds breezed along in the faded blue sky. “I... I don’t know how my grandparents can see your love inside this pain and I’m not inclined to go along without good cause, so...” She glanced around the forest, waiting, wondering, and the little girl inside of her hoping this fairytale might be true. “So, if you are in the middle of all this mess, show me.”
***
Jessica tucked a final apple into her burgeoning apron before stepping out of the forest in sight of the farm house. Whether from the crying on her grandfather’s shoulder or the fresh air of the day, the heaviness from earlier had lifted a little. As she came to the front porch steps, the sound of laughter from behind the house piqued her curiosity. She unloaded the apples onto the porch and made her way around the side of the house, stopping at the back corner to take in the sight.
August Reinhold stood, holding Sylvie’s arm with a badminton racquet, while Jude waited across the net with his own racquet in hand. Evidently, from the gentle instruction and occasional laughter, he was trying to teach the children badminton. Sylvie kept trying to turn around to see his face. Jude’s intense focus caused him to hit the birdie too hard. All the while, August kept attempting to teach, unscathed by the complete futility of the effort.
Jess leaned against the house, watching him from her shadowed perch. He crouched behind Sylvie, his khaki slacks and white button-up still giving him a fashionable look despite his current occupation. A special sort of tenderness enveloped him in some strange way, a gentle strength. The way he cupped Sylvie’s hand with his own against the racquet, his cheek pressed to hers as he helped her practice her swing, most likely to help her feel the vibrations of his speech at her ear. Gentle.
So different from her attacker.
Lt. Snyder, the true name of the spy who captured her and her brother, never stooped to dirty his clothes for the pleasure of a child. Not while he playacted as a Belgian doctor on the Front lines and certainly not after he’d revealed his true identity to Jess and David at gunpoint. He’d been harsh, forceful, taking exactly what he wanted from those subordinate to him. And though he hadn’t been able to completely violate her in his attack, he’d done enough to leave a stain of shame on her soul. She pinched her eyes closed at the naked memory... his rough hands on her skin... his heated breath scraping across her lips to her neck.
She forced her attention away from the ravaged remains of those memories and frantically searched for hints of duplicity in the countenance of the man before her. Sylvie snatched the racquet from him at one point, tossed it to the ground, and grabbed his face in her hands, fussing at him in an animated fashion. August’s deep laugh drifted to her from the field, pricking her frown to respond.
Her lips complied and her heart pushed against the boundaries of her hurt.
Sylvie pushed at August until he fell from his crouched position into the grass and after a second’s hesitation, Jude joined Sylvie in piling on top of the vulnerable sailor. August’s laugh continued, warm and inviting, intermingled with Sylvie’s infectious giggle. Jessica lost her hold on her smile as it spread wide, pinching into her cheeks.
In that moment, as August stood from the ground, Sylvie hooked to one of his legs and Jude clinging to his neck in a vain attempt to bring the man down again, his gaze found hers across the yard. His unfettered smile, broad and alive, froze. He raised a brow, his gaze beckoning her to enter his world of laughter and children and unbridled joy.
And something her heart understood that her mind didn’t.
She paused, grappling her expression back to neutral, waiting as Jude’s weight finally won against August’s balance and they both toppled to the ground again. She emerged from the shadows of the house and walked forward, each step closer to the cheerful bunch.
“I’ve never learned this rule of badminton, Mr. Reinhold. Is it part of the German version?”
He sat up, picking off Jude then Sylvie carefully and placing them on the grass with a tickle or two in the process. It was very difficult to remain cross with such a man.
“I’m afraid my students became distracted.”
She folded her arms across her chest, examining him as he rose to his feet. “Clearly.”
He dusted off his trousers with his hat and then replaced the latter back on his head, peeking at her from beneath the rim. “You could do better?”
“Probably. At this rate, it will be winter before you have one rally.”
“Is that a challenge, Miss Ross?”
She laughed. “I don’t need to challenge you, Mr. Reinhold.”
He matched her pose, his arms folded. “I could best you, I think.”
She slipped her palms to her hips, giving his full body a cynical perusal. “From what I just witnessed, that’s doubtful.”
“You play me?”
“No.”
He grimaced and then some thought must have spurned a mischievous smile. “You are afraid I will best you?”
Her laugh spilled loose again, and the residual warmth of his teasing ushered her own response. “Oh no, I won’t lose, dear Mr. Reinhold. I just don’t like to see grown men cry.”
His grin spread wide again in a way that let her know what she said pleased him, though she couldn’t figure out how. Her sassy comments rarely evoked much except scorn or a reprimand.
“Bold words.” He ushered his palm toward
the playing field, then slid her a look. “I promise to be easy on you.”
Her smile faded and she stood up straighter. “Easy on me?” Her lips pursed tight and she stepped closer, hoping her glare singed his perfect grin. “Because of my leg?”
“Oh no, Miss Jesse.” He stared back, his brow raised in pure innocence. “Because you are a woman.”
A shock of air burst from her lungs. She held out her palm. “It’s a challenge, Mr. Reinhold.”
He took her hand, his grin tilted in his mesmerizing way, and she suddenly realized what had happened. She’d walked readily into his trap, and for some reason, she wasn’t half as infuriated as she ought to be.
“But the match will have to wait until... later?”
“Ah, I see. You’ve suddenly realized you’ve overcommitted yourself?”
He removed his hat, unveiling his rebel curls. “Oh no, my dear Miss Jesse. I promised Sylvie and Jude a treasure hunt before I return to camp this afternoon.”
“A treasure hunt?” She crossed her arms again, the fire of a new argument animating her tongue. “How convenient.”
He raised his palms in admission of his blamelessness. “I speak the truth. You can ask Jude or Sylvie. We have a very special treasure hunt to make.”
“It sounds highly suspicious, Mr. Reinhold.”
She bestowed her most narrow-eyed gaze. He didn’t even flinch. In fact, his grin teased wider. “You are right.” He leaned close enough that his breath taunted chills across the skin at her cheek. “We are on a secret mission to collect information for the Kaiser, all hidden within the woods of your fair town.”
She rolled her gaze up to his, his face close, his scent of pine even closer. “And you just shared your vital information with your enemy.”
“You are not my enemy, Miss Jesse.” He wiggled his brows. “Until you are across the net from me.”
She shoved his shoulder to created distance from his enticing warmth. “Fine. Go off on your treasure hunt.”
Those periwinkle eyes held her attention for a moment longer, the gentle tug toward him opening a dormant curiosity. Trust him? Her breath hitched at the terrifying possibility. Trust a German? Again?
Mercifully, August turned his attention to Jude. “Jude, collect Sylvie for our walk. Our treasure hunt is too exciting for Miss Jesse today.”
She stared at the back of his head, hoping her vision left the slightest mark. But it would be a shame to scorch such lovely hair. “I like adventure as good as the next person, but I have work to do. Dinner, in fact. And a baby to see to.”
She gestured up toward the porch where Granny sat with Sylvie in her arms.
“Don’t mind us none, Jess honey. We’re fine as can be.”
Jessica’s shoulders slumped. Granny was no help at all with excuses.
Jess turned back to the trio, but they were already walking away from her, starting for the path through the woods toward the chapel. Sylvie rode on August’s back like an oversized and adorable knapsack in frilly rose. Jude walked beside him, one strap of his overalls falling over his shoulder, reminding her of how young he really was. Vulnerable. And hers.
Her heart squeezed as they disappeared into the forest. Afternoon sunlight filtered haloed hues through greenery, creating a golden archway of shade and sun, beckoning her to follow.
August Reinhold was an infuriating man. Argumentative and abrasive men, she understood, even overtly flirtatious and obvious like Jasper Little, but calm and quiet confidence? A man who appeared to hold the same tender heart she loved in her grandfather, father, and brother, yet with a distinctly more distracting smile? No, she wasn’t quite sure what to do with that.
She glanced up to the porch. Granny grinned, patting Faith as she slept on her shoulder.
“Well?” Her granny’s brows rose.
Jess released a body-shaking sigh. “Fine. I’ll be back soon.” She raised a finger to her grandmother to make her point. “Very soon.”
Chapter Twelve
Sylvie and Jude moved among the broken remains of the chapel, cheerful comrades in August’s plight for restoration of the broken building. He grinned down at them, Jude directing Sylvie to different things among the rubbish with a patience uncommon to most children his age.
August checked on the fresh boards he’d put in place as a framework for the new chapel—barely a skeleton, but enough to start taking shape. He stepped back to view his handiwork, grateful for the opportunity to practice his lifelong love of building, a passion scorned by his father.
“What... what are you doing?”
August turned to the sound of Jessica’s voice. There she stood at the entrance of what used to be the chapel doors, poised amidst the sunlit greenery and lavender rhododendron in a simple dress as green as the foliage framing her. When he’d seen her staring at him from the corner of the house, she’d captured him. Her hair, usually pinned in a braid, had been kept loose in the back, flowing in waves of gold around her shoulders. She stepped into the sunlight, as much a fairie of the forest as ever he’d imagined. Golden and alive, with a glint in her eyes enough to mesmerize any man. His grin spread in full appreciation. And he’d gladly succumb to her fiery spell, should she cast it his way.
“Pardon me?”
She exaggerated an eye-roll and gestured toward the children rummaging around in the chapel’s remains. “What are you doing here?”
He stepped through the clutter toward her. Though he’d removed some to make space for his new creation, he still had a lot the ruins to remove. This place called to him. A broken, forgotten place. He knew the vacancy of being cast off, and he also knew the beauty of transforming remains into what it was meant to be all along. His calling and gift.
The foundation still held true to this building. The pictures gave him guidance. All it needed was restoration, a word with vibrant meaning in his shadowed past of failure and rejection. Hope rising from the ashes of despair.
“A treasure hunt, as I told you.”
Her palms landed on her hips again and her eyes grew narrower as he drew closer. “This place is a disaster. A remnant of something beautiful.” She stared around the small space, lost in memory, before snapping back to the present. “But now it’s destroyed and filled with... broken oak and splintered pine. What treasures could you possibly find?”
He studied her, his head tilted in question. Was that her view now? Of brokenness and desolation? Had war and pain sent hope scurrying into the shadows so she saw the world through a veil of loss? Grief? No wonder she walled herself in with her sharp wit and deflection.
“Don’t you see, Miss Ross? Sometimes, you must look beyond the rubble to find a treasure that has been hiding all along.” He turned to Jude. “Jude, would you show Miss Jesse your treasures?”
She sent August a sizzling glance but unsheathed her smile on the little boy. The sheer beauty of it stopped his breath. Ah, what a smile! Could it be that a smile harder won brought greater joy? He was determined for her to bestow the glow on him.
Jude raised up a cloth sack for her view. Inside, mismatched and broken, lay various pieces of stained glass, charred remains from the windows found in the little chapel, brilliant colors of rich red, vibrant green, a dark royal, and pale yellow.
“They’re broken pieces.”
He held her stare, his smile offering a bridge of understanding. “We cannot recreate the memories, but we can salvage the beauty of what was.”
She looked up at him, doubt crinkling her brows into a ‘v.’ “How on earth can you make something beautiful out of shattered glass?”
He tipped his head toward her, lowering his voice. “Wait and see. It will be a grand surprise.”
Her cheeks bloomed pink and beautiful. “Did... did Grandpa hire you to do this?”
He nodded. “And I was happy to comply. This holds more of my talent than medicine, as I’m certain you could appreciate from my many stumbles during surgery last week.”
The tension in those lips sof
tened at the edges. A small victory. “But who will help Grandpa now, with or without the stumbling?”
“I thought you had worked out for Mr. Little to procure that specific responsibility.”
She blinked and lifted her chin—a gesture, he was quickly learning, which meant she was readied to fight. “That is a distinct possibility, of course.”
“I finished,” came Sylvie’s joyous call. She held out the cloth sack, half the depth of Jude’s, her cherub-smile triumphant.
“Sylvie, schau mich an. Look at me.” He tipped her chin and her glittering eyes focused on his face. “You say, I am finished. Ya?”
“I am finished,” she repeated with added intensity and then her smile flashed bright again.
“Very good.” He turned to Jude. “Have you enough treasure, Jude?”
The boy looked down into his bag and shrugged. “I’m fine with stayin’ or leavin’.”
The stoic independence of these native mountaineers bled through their bodies from childhood. Even in his few interactions with Jude, his strength and pride came as a surprise. But gentleness hovered beneath the serious demeanor, especially when it involved Sylvie. No doubt, the boy had shown such care to his mother in her final days. Old grief contracted his chest. He looked away only to find his gaze locked with Jessica Ross’, her guarded expression gentled into one of curiosity.
He cleared his throat. “Shall we return to the house so I can best you at badminton, as promised?”
“As promised?”
“I am a man of my word.”
One golden brow shot up like a weapon mercifully dulled by the subtle glint in her eyes. “Pride goeth before a fall, Mr. Reinhold.”
“Fine words, Miss Ross. I suppose you listened to them very intently as you spoke them, yes?”
And those pink lips softened even more before she turned and began to walk back down the forest path. Jude grabbed Sylvie’s hand and forged ahead, her dress flapping around her as they went and her giggle leading the way.
August fell into step with Jessica, allowing the silence to encourage her conversation. Or at least he hoped it would. He still felt as if he walked on uneven ground in her presence.
The Thorn Healer Page 14