Her Redeeming Faith

by Carolyn Greene

  The inner door opened, and a pretty fifty-something woman peered at them through the storm door. She was every bit as elegant as the others had described her, with chin-length brown hair falling in soft waves around her face and smooth skin that made her appear younger than her years. Her voice was so soft she could barely be heard over the dog’s barking.

  “Yes?”

  Gray hoped the website had listed the name of the house’s owner correctly. If he got it wrong, he might come across as rather shady. “Are you Amaya Kagawa?” At her subtle nod, he felt encouraged. “I’m Gray Bristow, and this is—” Here he went again. That awkward introduction. “—my friend Ruthie Chandler. We’re here to ask if you—”

  “I don’t want to buy. Thank you very much.” The woman dipped her head in a slight bow and started to push the door closed.

  Ruthie eased past him. “Wait, Mrs. Kagawa! I own Gleanings, the shop in Carytown where you bought the Japanese doll. The doll in the red silk dress.”

  The door opened again. This time, the customer gently nudged the dog back with her foot and stepped outside. She glanced toward the sidewalk as if to check whether anyone else was in the area, leading Gray to wonder if she suspected they might have henchmen lurking nearby. Perhaps he’d better let Ruthie do the talking.

  “The doll belongs to his grandmother.” Ruthie went on to explain how Pop had mistakenly brought a box of Sobo’s and his personal belongings to the store to be sold. She even described Sobo’s troubles with her broken hip and subsequent hospitalization, not details he would have thought to share but which seemed to garner some sympathy from Mrs. Kagawa. “It’s the only thing she has left from her childhood. So, we were wondering if you would sell the doll back to us. We’ll give you double what you paid for it.”

  He suspected Mrs. Kagawa might be swayed by sympathy for Sobo’s plight, but judging from this house and its location on Richmond’s historic Monument Avenue, money was probably not the best motivator for her.

  “I’m so sorry. It is a gift for my oba. My aunt. Her birthday party is in two Saturdays, and I know the doll is the only thing she would want.”

  Gray fisted his hands. They were this close. He and Ruthie had searched relentlessly to find the doll, and now they couldn’t just walk away without it. “What if we buy you another one?” he suggested. “An even nicer doll that’s brand new. I can have it shipped to you overnight so you’ll receive it in plenty of time for the party.”

  She reached for the doorknob, and from inside, the dog resumed its yapping. “I wish I could help you.”

  He decided now was the time to pull out the big guns, and he named a figure that even the uppermost crust of the ritziest Monument Avenue residents would consider long and hard. But Mrs. Kagawa apologetically shook her head.

  Ruthie looked at him as if to ask whether he had any other ideas up his sleeve.

  Unfortunately, he could think of nothing other than giving her his card. Considering how she had warmed up to Ruthie, he jotted her name, the name of the shop, and her phone number in case Mrs. Kagawa felt more comfortable calling her if she changed her mind.

  He handed her the card and asked her to call either of them if she thought of anything else her aunt would rather have for her birthday.

  “Thank you,” the woman said and accepted the card with a slight bow. Something told him it might go into the trash before he and Ruthie even made it back to the car. “I hope your obaasan is better soon.”

  The door closed with a final click, and the dog’s frenzied yapping quieted almost immediately. As they turned to descend the porch steps, he offered his elbow to Ruthie. She curled her fingers around the crook of his arm, and he gave them a gentle squeeze. Together they would think of something.

  They had to.

  Even after they reached the sidewalk, Ruthie clung to his arm. Grateful for his chivalry, she let him walk her to the passenger side of the car and open the door for her. The frustration of having come so close to regaining the precious doll only to have their very generous offers politely refused chipped away at the composure she’d been fighting to hold on to ever since Gray had shown up in her life again a little over a week ago.

  Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them back as she settled onto the leather seat.

  Gray got in and put the key in the ignition, then looked at her and dropped his hand without turning it. “Are you all right?”

  He was so sweet. So caring and understanding. And that was her undoing. His low-voiced concern brought to mind the night he had shown her his orders to deploy to Afghanistan. He had been more worried about her reaction than about the risky situation he was about to enter.

  “I’ll be okay,” she said, her voice choking on the words. “It’s Sobo who’s sick and vulnerable and missing a piece of her past. There’s nothing I can do. Nothing else either of us can do. It just makes me so….” She lifted a hand to brush away the tears that threatened to roll down her cheek. Her fingers shook. “So angry. But what makes me even angrier is that there’s no one to be angry with. Mrs. Kagawa bought the doll fair and square, and she has every right to refuse our offers to buy it back.”

  She drew in a breath and let it out on a shaky sigh.

  “I don’t blame her,” she continued. “It’s a beautiful doll, in excellent condition. I’d want to keep it, too.”

  Gray reached over and grasped her hand, bridging the distance between them. “There’s still time before the party next weekend. Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow and give her a picture of Sobo, like you suggested.”

  She wanted to hold on to hope that her customer’s mind could be so easily changed after having turned down all their other offers. But reality whispered that they’d done all they could. That the doll was forever lost to them. Lost to Sobo.

  “It’s no use,” she said, a tremble in her voice. “We’ll have to tell Sobo that I sold her only remaining childhood keepsake. She’s going to be devastated.”

  She sniffled, and the last word wobbled crazily off her tongue.

  “Hey, come on,” Gray murmured. “Stop beating yourself up.” He let go of her hand, then scooted closer and draped his arm around her shoulder. He gave her a warm squeeze and rested his cheek against the top of her head. “What happened to that mustard grain of faith you always carry around inside you? Aren’t you the person who always says you can do anything through God, who strengthens you?”

  She didn’t know whether it was the warm tone of his voice, the familiar comfort of his arms around her, or the fact that despite his own shaken faith he was reminding her of scriptural promises, but whatever it was, it tipped her over from being merely upset to totally losing it.

  The tears she’d been holding back burst forth and drenched his suit jacket. Ruthie hated that she was ruining his clothes—she was embarrassed to have him witness her crying. As a fair-skinned redhead, she always developed ugly red splotches when she cried, and she was sure today was no exception.

  Gray retrieved a clean handkerchief and handed it to her. When she was done wiping away the tears, he finished the job by rubbing his thumb gently under her eye.

  Great. Not only was she red and splotchy, now she had mascara all over her face. Strangely, his expression reflected none of her disgust. Instead, his eyes were filled with compassion and…love?

  Six months after she had moved in with the Bristows, her mother’s birthday had crept up on the calendar and clobbered her all over again with the permanence of her loss. Sobo and Pop had been wonderful to her, treating her the same as their own blood-related grandchildren, so she’d done all she could to hide her sadness from them.

  She’d thought she had done a pretty good job of hiding it from the extended family as well, but Gray had noticed.

  He had cornered her in the kitchen, away from the others, and insisted she tell him what was wrong. He had stroked her face, just as he did now, and told her she wasn’t stupid for grieving the mother who’d been so good to her. Nor was she
being ungrateful to his grandparents for wishing her mother was still alive.

  That night, he’d stuck around for dinner, and afterward dessert had mysteriously appeared on the table. A cake flamed with candles, and the scripted icing spelled out her mother’s name. Instead of singing the “Happy Birthday” song, they’d all sung, “Love and gratitude to you!” Sobo had added that she and Pop were grateful Ellen had done such a fine job raising their new honorary granddaughter and that they were grateful to offer the finishing touches. And to lighten the mood, Gray had said he was grateful Sobo had a new apple-canning apprentice so he wouldn’t have to help out anymore.

  His kind words and gentle manner had comforted her then, as they did now. An awareness between them had begun that day—she remembered it on her mother’s birthday every year—and now it hung between them, just as thick and warm and sweet as it had been back then.

  Gray pulled her closer, and the midday shadow that bristled his jaw lightly scraped against her skin. She felt his soft breath tease a tendril of hair and wished they could stay like this forever. Holding each other, forgetting about what had pushed them apart and just being in each other’s company.

  A moment later, when he lowered his head to kiss away her sadness, she wished they could stay like this forever. She returned the kiss, and a flutter of shyness swept over her, just as if this were their first time. It was a chaste kiss, but he took his time, for which she was glad. And when he slowly drew away, she knew that nothing about their feelings for each other had changed. If anything, they’d grown stronger.

  The sentiment that flooded her emotions reflected back to her in Gray’s eyes. It was too late now to go their separate ways. They were older and wiser and knew their hearts better now. And she could see his acknowledgment as clearly as she felt it in her own heart. From the day she’d first met him, she had felt something persistently drawing them to each other. His eyes, gazing down at her now, could not lie.

  Ruthie was elated by the kiss. By the knowledge that he was affected by it…affected by her. By the clarity that, despite that letter he’d written to her, he still wanted her.

  On the other hand, Gray still seemed troubled. As if he was torn between kissing her again and bolting from the car.

  She squeezed his arm. “You felt it, too. Didn’t you?”

  He shook his head. Not “No, I didn’t feel it,” but “No, I don’t want to go there.”

  In his letter he had said he didn’t want her to yoke herself to him, an unbeliever. But as Pastor John sometimes said, God can let someone “know with a knowing,” and she knew with that kind of certainty that Gray still loved her and that he still believed. Deep down. So deep, perhaps, that he had thought it was gone from him.

  His faith had been shaken by something…something she trusted he would share with her soon. But in the Bible, Peter had doubted, too. Jesus had beckoned him to walk on the water, and Peter had noticed the wind and waves. As when Peter focused on the storm around him and began to sink, that was how Gray began to founder.

  It was a risk to ask Gray the next question…a risk of scaring him away or of setting herself up to be hurt again. But it was a risk she had to take. Pop had always said, “The best things in life don’t come easy.”

  She would always regret it if she let the most wonderful man she’d ever met continue to slip even further away because of something that had happened four years ago. Something that, if he would only open up to her, they might be able to work through. Gray was a good man, and she believed with time, patience, and lots of prayer, he would soon return to the God he used to love. And she was willing to stand by him while he traveled the circuitous road back to faith.

  “Do you suppose,” she ventured, “we could give us another try?”

  Chapter 9

  Gray tensed, knowing what she wanted from him. She wanted the full package. A man to love her and adore her and start a family together, all of which he was more than willing to do. But she also wanted him to love God, as she did.

  To say grace before meals, go to church on Sundays, and be faithful to the God who had turned His back on him during his time of greatest need. Those were the deal breakers.

  He wasn’t ready. Recalling the song he’d heard at church the other night, which still resonated in his head with annoying clarity every time he was alone and quiet, he wanted to answer an unqualified yes. He wanted to come home to Ruthie. But he wasn’t ready for God. Not yet.

  Maybe never.

  As much as he wanted God out of his life, he wanted Ruthie in. She watched him, waiting for the answer he wanted to give her but couldn’t. Sitting near her like this, their faces so close he could smell the hint of cucumber-and-melon fragrance she loved so much, he fought the crazy urge to count her freckles.

  Fought to keep from taking her into his arms again and kissing her as if they could somehow, crazily, make up for the years apart.

  But even if they could work out the differences in their faith, could they work out the differences that had arisen as a result of his service in Afghanistan?

  It had been hard to come home to a “normal” life. Sleep might be replenishing for others, but for him it was a time to relive the unresolved memories of his time overseas. For Ruthie, witnessing a minor fender-bender accident in front of her shop might elicit a prayer and compassionate there-theres.

  But for him, such sights stirred up nightmares of the elderly man who’d been intentionally run over by a driver too fearful of an ambush to stop and let the man finish crossing the street.

  She would never understand what he’d been through. Truth be told, he’d lived through it himself and still didn’t understand it.

  Moments of quiet camaraderie with his fellow soldiers juxtaposed with times of drawn guns and fear. Civilians selling their wares on streets that only hours before had been popping with gunfire. It made no sense. How could anyone understand such a way of life?

  On the one hand, he found himself growing impatient with the television news reporters whose biggest story lately seemed to be a Peeping Tom who so far had caused no harm. And on the other, he found himself wanting to wrap his loved ones in Bubble Wrap and keep them all safe from even the mere threat of harm.

  Was the chasm between them too wide to bridge?

  He pulled away and leaned back against the headrest. Tried not to focus on the hope in her hazel eyes and the possibility that he might break her heart yet again. If they were going to try this again—and he even questioned his sanity in considering it—she needed to understand that she wasn’t going to change him.

  He had been broken during that miserable day in Afghanistan when he’d lost his faith, and he couldn’t let her go into this believing she could slap a bandage on him and fix him. He had come home with all his limbs intact, but a big piece of him was missing, never to be regained. He wished he could believe with the naïve faith he used to have, but whatever faith had once been there was now so bruised, tarnished, and battered it was unsalvageable.

  He sighed, the sound so heavy that the restrained eagerness behind her smile wilted just a little.

  “There need to be conditions,” he said cautiously. Then he rushed forward before she got any wrong ideas. “Primarily that you will not attempt to steer me back to church.”

  Ruthie jutted her jaw forward while she rolled the idea around in her mind. He knew her well enough and trusted her enough to know that she wouldn’t make a promise unless she was certain she could fulfill it.

  “What about saying grace before meals?” she asked. “I usually say it out loud, as do Sobo and Pop. And if I break out into spontaneous prayer, I’m going to make an emu hand.”

  “I’m not asking you to change yourself.” He appreciated her sincerity. Appreciated everything about her and wouldn’t want to change a thing. “I’m just asking you not to try to change me.”

  Ruthie grinned. “Is it okay if I ask you to remove your elbows from the table?”

  “Hey, somebody’s gotta cle
an me up and make me look nice in public.”

  “All right, then. It’s a deal.”

  She looked so happy that he wanted to throw caution to the wind and rejoice with her. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

  “It’s not enough that you agree,” he said, and her smile abruptly went south. “You need to understand why I sent you that letter. To understand what made me the way I am today.”

  “Of course. I want to hear all about it,” she said. “I want to understand.”

  A movement over his shoulder caught his attention. Amaya Kagawa had stepped out onto her porch and leaned around the pillar in an effort to see what they were doing in the car so long.

  “We’re making her nervous.” He pulled away from Ruthie and turned the key in the ignition.

  And this conversation with Ruthie was making him nervous.

  At first Ruthie had thought he was going to take her back to Gleanings and that his explanation would be delayed yet again. Instead, he drove to Maymont Park and pulled under the shade of the tree in the parking lot. Then he led her to the Japanese Garden, where they walked the gravel path in silence.

  Her heart soared at the prospect of renovating their tattered relationship. There would be hurdles to overcome, but the major one—Gray’s resistance—had been conquered. By comparison, the rest of the hurdles should be easy.

  While she and Gray strolled, the pruned trees and shrubs, raked sand pools, bridges, and stone lanterns in the garden brought to mind her visits here with Sobo. She and her honorary grandmother had walked this path together, usually silent but sometimes sharing whatever was on their minds and hearts. At the time, it had seemed as if Sobo was searching for something. Something unspoken and maybe even unrecognized.

  Was Gray also searching? Or might that be wishful thinking on her part?