How Sweet It Is

by Robin Lee Hatcher

His gaze shifted to the Bible story, and he saw himself, even more clearly than he had before, in the person of the older brother who refused to celebrate the return of the younger. Maybe Jed had been jealous. Maybe he’d been rigid. Maybe he’d been selfish. Whatever the reasons for his thoughts and actions, he didn’t much care for the results of his recent introspection.

  Hands now folded on the open Bible, he began to talk to God. No fancy words. No attempt to quote Scripture. No pontificating, as Grandpa Andy would have called it. Jed had asked for forgiveness before, but this time was different. His prayer was earnest, raw. He wanted to change the type of man he’d become. He wasn’t sure how to accomplish it, but he knew he couldn’t do it without God’s help. There was more at stake here than the survival of his company. More even than the restoration of the relationship with his brother. God wanted his full attention, his full surrender. Jed had kept a tight grip on his life—personal, spiritual, and professional—for many years. Was he ready to loosen that grip and let God take full control?

  “Make me ready, God. Please.”

  His phone vibrated on the coffee table. He kept his eyes closed, trying to ignore it, but finally he had to look. Chris’s name was on the screen. He grabbed the phone, swiping to answer the call.

  “Chris?”

  “Yeah. It’s me.”

  He drew a quick breath. “I’m glad you called me back.” His gaze alighted on his brother’s name in the margin of the open Bible.

  “I talked to Mom.”

  “Good. That’s good.”

  “You might as well know. I’m not going back to Washington. I’ve got my reasons.”

  Panic started to rise in Jed’s chest. He pushed it down. “Will you meet with me? Just to talk. You pick the time and place, and I’ll be there.”

  “I’m surprised you’re still in Boise. You’ve hardly left Laffriot’s offices, even for a few hours, let alone for days.”

  “We’ve temporarily shut down operations.” Jed winced, knowing it sounded as if he’d had something to say about the situation. Time to be more honest. He couldn’t fix anything if he wasn’t honest. “It was Dad’s idea.”

  “Because of me?”

  “It’s more complicated than that.”

  “Really?”

  “Give me half an hour. In person. Please.”

  Chris was silent. Maybe it was Jed’s last word that gave him pause. He couldn’t blame Chris if it was. After all, when had Jed last said “please” to his brother? In the business setting, his MO was more demanding, more about barking orders. Maybe that was his MO beyond the business setting too.

  “Half an hour, Chris. Anywhere you say.”

  “All right,” his brother said at last. “Thursday night. I’ll text you the time and place.”

  “Okay.” Part of him wanted to insist they meet sooner. He’d waited all this time already. Why three more days? He managed to swallow the words. Or maybe it was God who stopped them in his throat. “See you Thursday.”

  “Later.” The phone went silent.

  It was a start. He would be thankful for the start.

  Sunday, August 3, 1969

  Andrew and Helen stayed home from church that Sunday. With his wife still in bed, Andrew read aloud from the Bible. He began in the Psalms, then at her request moved to the book of James. “‘My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations; Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience. But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing.’” He continued to read for another five minutes before Helen interrupted him softly.

  “We must be patient.”

  He looked up, but her eyes were closed.

  “There is a purpose for all suffering,” she added in a whisper.

  A purpose for all suffering. Yes, he knew it was true. Trials had entered their lives more than once through the years, and God had taught him many lessons through them. His times of greatest growth had come because of the valleys, not the mountaintops. And yet he resisted the trials, fought against them, wanted to make them go away. His response should be to look to Jesus in the first instant and to trust Him completely for the outcome, but all he could think about was what it might cost him. And what if he couldn’t bear the cost?

  An invisible hand seemed to rest upon his shoulder. He heard the whisper of the Comforter, reminding him that he wouldn’t be alone, no matter the trial. The burden wasn’t his to carry. He shouldn’t even try.

  He reached for a pad of paper and a pen on the night table and wrote on it:

  Whatever suffering is allowed into my life—whether my own fault, an attack of the enemy, or because I live in a fallen world—God’s ultimate purpose is for the trial to make me more like Jesus.

  He tore the paper from the pad, folded it, and pressed it into the gutter of the Bible before he turned the page.

  Chapter 13

  Holly stood in her kitchen, staring at the red mixing bowl on the counter, not far from the beautiful new range. More than anything, she wanted to forget the list of chores that awaited her, now that she was back from the restaurant, and lose herself in creating something super sweet and super yummy. Or maybe something as simple as a batch of sugar cookies with bright-colored icing. Or how about some funky-looking cupcakes? She sniffed the air, as if hoping to catch a scent of vanilla. It wasn’t there, and she couldn’t conjure it in her imagination.

  A sigh escaped her as she looked around the kitchen again. When was the last time she’d baked anything just for fun? That was one of the reasons she’d purchased her new range, so she could experiment with new recipes, new cake designs, new flavors and shapes and frostings. But where was she supposed to find those hours? Steal them from sleep? Take them from the restaurant?

  She frowned. It wasn’t right, the pattern she’d fallen into over the past year. Apart from church on Sundays and her Monday mornings with the women from the shelter, her waking hours were mostly about keeping the restaurant afloat, filling in for servers, ordering supplies, an endless stream of paperwork. There was no joy in any of that. The restaurant was a millstone around her neck. There had to be a better way than simply getting through the day and hoping she would swim instead of sink. But how did she find it?

  Releasing another sigh, she grabbed the trash bag out of the kitchen can, then carried it from room to room, emptying more trash into it as she went. After tying the bag closed, she took up a box of recyclables and headed outside. She was dropping the items in their respective bins when the garage door opened and Jed stepped into view, a canvas grocery bag in each hand. He stopped when he saw her.

  “Hey, Holly.”

  “Hi.”

  He glanced toward the house, then back at her. “Listen, I owe you an apology.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “I was rude yesterday. When your sister brought up Laffriot and I left like I did.”

  “You weren’t rude.”

  “Yes, I was.” He gave his head a slow shake. “Trixie’s comments caught me off guard. I . . . I’m feeling a bit defensive about my company right now.”

  She nodded to let him know she listened.

  “Look.” He raked a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration. “I told you my brother and I aren’t in a good place. One of the reasons is because of Laffriot.” A frown knitted his brows. “I’m just starting to figure out some of the things that went wrong between us, but the business is definitely one of the reasons we don’t get along. So it’s kind of a sore spot with me. Anyway, I’m sorry for the way I walked out.”

  Strange. She hadn’t realized, until this moment, how bothered she’d been by his abrupt departure.

  “There’s something else I’d like to say. I’ve been successful in business. Your sister told you that. But I haven’t been good in personal relationships. God’s shown me that since I came to Boise.”

  Holly couldn’t relate to the succeeding in business part, but she could about failing at personal relations
hips. She nodded, hoping he read the empathy in her eyes.

  “I’m hoping I can change things. Make things better with Chris. Maybe become a better man in other ways.”

  Nerves tumbled in her stomach. She wasn’t sure why. Perhaps his words felt too personal.

  He took a small step forward. “I like you, Holly. From the start I’ve liked you. I don’t know if it could be anything more than friendship, but I’m wondering if . . .”

  Her mouth went dry. Her throat constricted.

  “It’s complicated. Right? You live in Boise. I live in Tacoma. But I’d like to see if we might become more than friends.”

  The last man Holly was attracted to had fooled her, then dumped her. He’d left her struggling emotionally and financially. He’d left her afraid to take risks. She didn’t want to be hurt like that again. She couldn’t trust her judgment. She would be a fool to consider it, especially with a man who lived and worked on the opposite side of the neighboring state.

  “Holly Stanford, you like him,” Trixie’s voice whispered in her memory.

  Like him or not, she didn’t want to be foolish. She hadn’t time for romance. Relationships took work. They took time and attention. She didn’t have either of those to give.

  Again her little sister’s words returned: “You’ve closed yourself off. You’ve locked up your emotions.”

  It wasn’t easy, but Holly could remember a time when she’d been fearless, when she’d been eager to take on the world, ready to risk it all to achieve her dreams. She didn’t want to be the woman who shrank back from life. If only . . .

  “Let me take you out to dinner one night this week.”

  Her heart fluttered erratically. Did she dare say yes? This would be a date. This would be the first step in seeing if they could be more than friends. Did she want that? Why would she? It was a situation rife with danger. She was better off alone. She couldn’t trust her feelings.

  “Shall we say Wednesday at six?” he prompted softly.

  “Okay.” The word escaped her, against her will.

  “Wednesday it is, then. I’ll make reservations and pick you up at your back door.”

  O God, don’t let this be a mistake. Don’t let me regret meeting him. Don’t let him make a fool of me.

  There was a kindness in his eyes as he watched her, almost as if he had read her desperate prayer. She hoped she was wrong. She wasn’t ready for him to know her that well.

  * * *

  It surprised Jed, how much his mood was improved by his brief encounter with Holly, and his footsteps felt lighter as he descended the steps and entered his apartment. He walked straight to the kitchen, where he quickly emptied the two shopping bags, perishables into the fridge and the remainder of the groceries into one of the small cabinets.

  Once finished, he returned to the living room and opened his laptop. There were half a dozen emails awaiting him. Three of them could wait. The fourth was an offer to buy Laffriot. A good offer, based on dollars alone. This wasn’t an unusual occurrence. Ever since the success of Caliban, other game companies—larger and with longer histories—had come calling, hoping to absorb Laffriot. Jed had rejected the offers without consideration. His plan had been to take Laffriot from a small start-up to a global company. Why sell when he was only getting started?

  But if we sold it, I wouldn’t have to go back to Tacoma.

  Sell Laffriot? Only a month ago, his dad’s threat of doing that had made Jed go ballistic.

  His gaze rose to the ceiling of his apartment. He hadn’t heard any footsteps since he’d left Holly out by the garage. But then, he never heard much noise from upstairs. She moved as quietly as that cat of hers. What was she up to now? he wondered. Had she already eaten her supper, or was she dining late? Or maybe she was soaking away the day in a bubble bath.

  That thought brought an unwelcome image with it. Appealing but unwelcome. Tempting but unwelcome. At least for a guy who was trying to get his walk with the Lord back on track.

  With a shake of his head, he lowered his gaze. He’d better distract himself and quick. He reached into one of the nearby boxes he’d brought with him from his cousin’s garage and pulled out the first packet of envelopes. The top letter had brought him to see this apartment. He took it from the envelope and read it once again. It made him wish, not for the first time, that he could remember Andrew Henning. Even more, he wished he could sit down with his great-grandfather and ask for advice. Something about the tone of this letter—in addition to Andrew’s well-used Bible—told Jed he would have received wise and godly counsel from this man. From all he’d heard, family had been of utmost importance to his great-grandfather. Maybe he could have asked him how to fix things with Chris.

  What went wrong between us, Lord? When did it really start? What part did I play in it? I need to know. Otherwise, how can I make it right?

  Jed frowned. He wasn’t someone who asked for advice. Not often, anyway. He liked making his own way, making his own decisions, even making his own mistakes so he could learn from them. But he’d also been someone who’d tried to tell his younger brother how he should live. He’d offered plenty of advice that hadn’t been wanted. Worse, he’d tried to control Chris’s behavior once the two of them started working together. It didn’t matter that he’d been convinced he did it to help his brother. He’d been in the wrong.

  He leaned back on the sofa.

  I’ll tell him I was wrong when I see him.

  But would that be enough to set things right?

  Monday, August 4, 1969

  A fly buzzed near the screened door as Andrew climbed the porch step on his return from the mailbox. He was about to open the door when he heard a vehicle approaching the house. Turning, he recognized Charlotte’s black Pontiac Bonneville. A quick glance at his wristwatch told him Grant wouldn’t be back to the farm for another two hours or so.

  “Hi, Grandpa Andrew,” Charlotte called as she got out of the car.

  “What a nice surprise.”

  “For me too. I didn’t expect to have the afternoon off.”

  “You know Grant won’t be here until close to six.”

  She came up the steps. “I know. I came to see you and Grandma Helen.”

  He loved it that she hadn’t waited until after the wedding to begin calling them Grandma and Grandpa. “I think Helen’s still napping. Would you like some lemonade?”

  “No, thanks. I’m okay.” She glanced at the porch chairs. “Shall we sit out here?”

  “If that’s what you’d like. Not bad here in the shade.”

  A hot breeze caused the trees to sway in a lazy sort of dance. The horses stood near the water trough, heads low and tails swishing at flies. Chester rose from his spot beneath the porch swing and came to rest his muzzle on Charlotte’s thigh.

  “Hello there.” She scratched the dog behind the ears. “What a good boy.”

  “You know his weak spot.”

  “Don’t I, though.” She bent at the waist and touched her forehead to the dog’s. “We’re best friends. Aren’t we, Chester?”

  Andrew’s daughters had loved the farm, but neither of them had been what could be called a tomboy. Charlotte, on the other hand, seemed made for rough and noisy activities. He suspected she would rather be hauling around bales of hay or driving a tractor than baking a pie in the kitchen. She and Grant were going to do well together, even if they might live on peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches.

  Charlotte straightened. “Grant told me you’re still nervous about newlyweds sharing the house with you. But isn’t that what you did when you were first married?”

  “Things were a lot different back then. Especially after the market crashed and the Great Depression began. Families of several generations used to share houses all the time. You young people today are different.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid it would be asking too much of you.”

  “Grandpa, Grant and I share a dream of owning a farm, of raising crops and animals, and eventually having us
some kids who’ll grow up on horseback and love the earth like we do. It’s hard to buy the kind of place we want.” Her eyes swept the barnyard. “A place like this. You don’t want to leave it, and we want to become a part of it. I think it can work for all of us.”

  Andrew mulled over her impassioned words. He remembered a few differences of opinion that he’d had with his father-in-law. What if he and Grant couldn’t agree about planting or harvesting? Who would be making the decisions then?

  And yet his heart told him this was the right choice. It would be best for Helen, best for him, and best for Grant and Charlette too. Oh, how he wanted to believe that.

  Chapter 14

  At five forty-five on Wednesday evening, only one word could describe Holly. Terrified.

  It didn’t help that she’d told Trixie about her upcoming date with Jed.

  After squealing like a teenager, her sister had cried, “I knew it!”

  Holly had pulled the phone away from her ringing ear.

  “I feel good about this,” Trixie had continued, excitement lingering in her voice. “I feel good about him. You deserve somebody special in your life.”

  Remembering the phone call, Holly stared into the bedroom mirror, wishing she hadn’t mentioned anything to Trixie. Wishing she hadn’t agreed to go out with Jed. She wanted nothing so much as to call it off. It was more than nerves. Fear churned inside of her. She already liked Jed more than she should. What if she let him into her heart, only to have him break it?

  “Shame on you,” she said to her reflection. “You didn’t used to be a coward. You aren’t a coward. He’s nice. You like his company. It’s a dinner. It needn’t be anything more. You can be strong enough to risk one dinner.” She turned away from the mirror and reached for her sweater that lay on the foot of the bed.

  “Meow.” Pumpkin jumped onto the bed, stepping on the knit garment.

  “Don’t you start.” Holly scratched the cat behind the ears before gently pushing her away.