Walking along the bluffs with Greg, Miranda felt like a new person. Inside, the house had closed in on her until she saw Gregory. Now out here with the velvety sky full of stars and a light breeze teasing her hair the tension of the party seemed miles away.
“I’m glad you rescued me,” she said, squeezing Greg’s hand. He’d taken hers the moment they’d left the path. Miranda wasn’t sure whether he was protecting her from falling, or letting her guide him through unfamiliar territory. Either way, it was wonderful.
“I think we rescued each other. I can’t say I was here for any reason but to see you,” he told her, which made her heart flutter.
“Personally I think it’s kind of a sad reason for a party. But I guess it figures with my father’s image as the CEO of Blanchard Fabrics. And I imagine it gives his attorneys the publicity they want as well.”
“But, as you said, all that adds up to a pretty pitiful reason for a party. I couldn’t help comparing it to Winnie’s birthday party. That was the last big event I attended in your family’s home. Now there was a reason for celebration.”
Even in the dark she could see and feel Greg’s smile. “I felt the same way tonight before you came. Except for Grandfather’s outburst with Alannah and Juliet in January, Aunt Winnie’s party was so joyous. Tonight feels so…I don’t know…hollow in comparison.”
“For somebody who doesn’t consider herself terribly spiritual, you certainly are rather deep. And we’re often on the same track on things, like what you just said.”
They had come to the weather-worn porch swing that had been on the bluffs here as long as Miranda could remember. “Well, if we’re on the same track, then maybe you’d like a chance to sit down as much as I would,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted.
“That would be fine. I didn’t sit down much inside because there just wasn’t a group I wanted to join in there.”
She sank to the smooth gray seat of the swing in its frame, the chains holding the swing creaking softly. The salt air had worked on this swing for decades. Occasionally someone replaced it, but it always seemed to weather to this homey piece of furniture quickly. Greg sat down beside her, sighing contentedly. “This is very comfortable. Do you come here often?”
“It’s one of my favorite places after Winnie’s rose garden. Sometimes when I’m looking for inspiration that won’t come, I walk out and sit here and stare out there at the ocean until the horizon blurs.” It wasn’t something she’d shared with many people; her family already counted her as the resident daydreamer and she didn’t have many writing friends she would have trusted with something this private.
“Wow. That sounds positively poetic. In the nicest sense of the word, I mean.” Greg relaxed back into the swing, setting it swaying softly with the push of his long legs. He reached above his head in a move that reminded Miranda of a teenager at the movies, draping an arm across the back of the swing.
It would feel so good, she thought, just to lean back onto that strong arm and stay there. Greg must have thought so, too, because he didn’t move when she did settle in with a small, happy sigh. For a little while they just sat there together and Miranda looked up at the brightening stars.
“Can you teach someone to write poetry? I’ve always felt that it was sort of an inborn talent, somehow. I feel I’m miserable at it, personally. I look at the poetry of the psalms and it moves me, but I can’t imagine writing it.”
“You can teach some parts of writing anything, but I have to think there’s something inborn as well. You can teach someone how to reach what’s already there inside them, but you can’t create that ‘something’ if it’s not there.”
“Wow. Can I take that idea for a sermon sometime? It’s a very powerful idea.”
Miranda sat up a little straighter. “You would use something I said in a sermon? I hardly feel worthy of that.”
“None of us are worthy by ourselves. It’s the Spirit working in us that brings that worthiness. And what you said about teaching someone to reach something inside, but not being able to create that something, is a very deep Christian idea. If we believe it’s the grace of God that saves us through faith, we’re talking about ‘something’ being there inside us that we can’t create, because God’s the One who put it there.”
“And what I said led you to all of that? I’m impressed. I thought we were simply talking about writing poetry. And by the way, I think you might be better at that than you think.” It was on the tip of her tongue to say that his eloquence around her was one of the things she loved about him, but something stopped her.
“I don’t know about that—” Greg broke off what he was saying and looked down. In the silence Miranda could hear a faint hum and there seemed to be a glow coming from somewhere. “My cell phone.” Greg sighed. “I have to at least see who’s calling.”
He fished the offending phone out of his pocket and glanced at the display. “I have to take this one for just a minute.” He flipped it open as he stood up from the swing and walked a couple of steps into the darkness. “Hello? Yes, I know, Aunt Martha, I didn’t call this week.”
So it was a family call. Miranda tried not to eavesdrop, but it was difficult. She wondered what Greg would tell his aunt about what he was doing right at the moment. “No, nothing is wrong. I’ve just been very busy. Mostly routine stuff, but there has been a bit of excitement, too.”
Miranda’s pulse raced. Had Greg said anything about her to his family yet? She wasn’t familiar enough with the ways of men in general to know what to expect. In the faint light she could tell that Greg looked over to where she still sat. “Say hi for me,” she said softly on impulse.
“What? Oh, Miranda says hi.” There was a short pause. “No, she’s just a friend who goes to Unity. I’m at a party her family is giving. It’s a large celebration. I even ran into my best girl Kaitlyn earlier. That’s right, the cute one with the red hair.”
Miranda’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach. So she was just a friend from church. And he mentioned her in the same breath as a six-year-old. That’s what you get for saying something, she told herself bitterly. Now you really know what he thinks of you.
Hot tears threatened to spill over as she sat staring at the ground, her hands balled into fists. As usual she wasn’t carrying a handkerchief or tissues. A knot tightened her throat, but for a change it didn’t signal a panic attack coming on, just a huge dose of hurt and disappointment. No longer listening to Greg’s conversation, she stood up and started heading back to the house. Half-blinded by tears she almost stumbled ten feet from the swing, but steadied herself. She almost looked back around to see if Greg had noticed. No sense in that. He was too busy talking to someone he really loved.
Greg almost hung up on Aunt Martha and Uncle Vince when he turned and noticed the empty swing. The moment he’d told his aunt that the soft voice she’d heard in the background just belonged to a friend, he knew he was in trouble. Still, how could he explain to Miranda that his aunt was such a hopelessly romantic person, with a vivid imagination?
If he admitted that Miranda might be anything more than a friend, Martha would mentally be planning the wedding already. No, Greg resolved years ago not to talk about women with his aunt. The one time he’d brought a girl home from college just because she had nowhere to go on Thanksgiving weekend, he’d come downstairs for Saturday breakfast to find Martha showing his poor, hapless friend clippings and baby pictures from a scrapbook. After that he’d always been very careful to err on the side of caution with Martha.
Greg knew his attention had left the conversation when he heard Vince call sharply, “Son? You still with us or has that space-age phone of yours run out of juice?” Vince didn’t believe anybody needed a telephone that could fit in a pocket and contained a day planner, games and a digital camera.
“No, the phone’s fine. I just need to get back to the party before they miss me,” Greg said. No sense in telling them that what he really had to get back to was a young woman he needed to have a talk with. That alone would get Martha going. They said their goodbyes and Greg hurried up the path searching for Miranda.
“Hey, wait up. We need to talk,” he told her as he caught sight of her in front of him, hurrying toward the well-lit kitchen.
Miranda stopped, but she didn’t move toward him. “I think you’ve talked plenty.” Even in the near-dark Greg could see tears glistening on her cheeks. He reached out toward her and she stepped back, palms out in a gesture that could only mean stop.
“Will you at least let me try to explain?” That sounded pretty lame even to him. “I know you heard me say you were just a friend, but there’s more to it than what you heard.”
Miranda dashed the back of her hand across her cheek. “There’s more? Oh, great. Next you’ll tell me it’s not me, it’s you. Any other lines you want to run by me?”
Greg stood there speechless. Was he being that shallow and transparent? Because he’d never been in this position before, he had absolutely no practice in what to do next. If Miranda would let him he would gather her into his arms and hold her and ask her to try to put up with his fumbling attempts to apologize and make things right. But she didn’t want anything to do with him.
Of course, this just proved that she didn’t need somebody like him to add more pain to her life. “No, there are no more lines, Miranda. But will you please stay here with me a moment so I can get my act together and say things right for a change?”
“No. If you have to think about it all that much, there’s really nothing more to say.” Leaving him in the dark, she turned and nearly ran back to the kitchen door. Greg stood there watching her disappear into the brightly lit house while he tried to figure out what on earth he should do next.
A few of the catering staff looked at him a bit oddly when he rushed through the kitchen on his mission to find Miranda. He didn’t find her there, or in the dining room. When he scanned the crowd in the hall his heart sank when he saw a bevy of women just rounding the corner of the staircase to the second story of the house.
“All right, just what is going on here, Pastor Greg?” Winnie’s voice nearby made him start. “Miranda came in looking quite upset, talking in an animated fashion with Bianca and Portia. Then Bianca gathered the rest of her sisters from where they’d been around the house and they all trooped upstairs.”
“What would happen if I followed them?” Greg watched the group disappear from view.
“You’d get a door slammed in your face at best. None of the ‘menfolk’ went up there. Apparently there’s some kind of conference call set up with a new private investigator that Bianca has found. Even Delia is being patched in from Hawaii.”
“Whoa. Serious stuff.” He wondered if Miranda had known about that when she went outside with him. Had she been willing to give up an important meeting with her sisters just to be with him? If so, he was in even deeper trouble than he thought.
“Extremely serious stuff. I hope to hear what they learn this evening. I know that Bianca is praying for concrete proof of her mother’s survival, and an idea of where Trudy might be. And the others are doing the same.” Winnie’s eyes held unshed tears.
“What do you think they’ll find?” Greg discovered he was holding his breath waiting for the answer.
“What I hope and pray for is that they’ll find Trudy alive and in as good a shape as is possible. Although I have no idea how well she might be after all those years in that place Bianca and Delia told me about. I try to convince myself that it’s possible someone might find Trudy and find her relatively well.” Her face softened into a small, hopeful smile. “After all, you’re always reminding us that with God all things are possible.”
“This is true. And tonight I need to be reminded of that myself. Thanks for providing the reminder.” Just hearing the words, he felt a little more comfortable. He’d been trying to second-guess God for a while now, wondering if Miranda could possibly be the “right” person for him, and deciding that might not be possible. God, however, might have a totally different idea.
“I’m more than happy to return even a little of the inspiration you’ve given to me.” Winnie patted his arm. “Now, how about we get away from this party a bit. I know you’re a history buff. Would you like the historical tour of the house? I’ll even tell you the truth behind all the gossip.”
“Winnie, you’re on. And if that tour might possibly end up on the second floor in about forty-five minutes, that wouldn’t be a bad thing either.”
She shook her head slightly. “I’ll say one thing for you, Pastor Greg. You’re determined.”
Greg felt like telling her she had no idea how determined he could be once he put his mind to it.
There weren’t a lot of secrets in the living room or dining room. The tour went through those quickly, skirting the groups of people surrounding Ronald in the living room and a small cluster of Blanchard Fabrics management types who’d taken up residence in the dining room. The kitchen held more interest for Winnie, and even more interesting was the cellar entrance near it.
Winnie unlocked the door to the cellar and flipped on a light switch on the cold stone wall. “Now watch your step going down here. The stairs are old and wooden, but they’re sturdy. If you have problems with cobwebs, we’ll forget this part of the house.”
“Cobwebs are okay. I’m not real keen on rodents, though.” It cost Greg something to admit that, but it would have been even harder if Winnie saw his reaction should a rat slink out of a corner.
“Me neither. As long as I live in this house, you can be assured there won’t be mice or rats inside the property.” She shuddered slightly. “I can’t argue with them outside, but in here is my territory.”
Reassured, Greg followed Winnie down the stairs to the cellar. It proved to be relatively well lit and very clean, though there was an air of dampness about it. “This close to the ocean, I’m surprised the water table allows for a basement,” he said, wondering how it was possible.
“We have a very good sump pump,” Winnie said. “There’s also another little secret.” Crossing the space to the far wall, she motioned to a doorway. The heavy oak door had several locks. “Through there is a secret passage. It leads down to a second level, so if water does rise to that level, it stays there.”
“Does the secret passage go anywhere?”
“Of course. It wouldn’t be worth the name otherwise, would it? It’s actually more of a room than a passage, but at the other end it connects to the caves that are down at beach level.”
“Caves?” Greg’s interest level rose. “Have you ever explored them?”
“Once years ago. I discovered that I liked bats even less than I liked mice, and I spent most of my time in the caves worrying that they might house thousands of the little creatures.”
“I can appreciate that. Do the caves have history connected to them?”
‘Naturally. There are still barrels and crates down there from when they were used by smugglers over two hundred years ago. And during Prohibition I’m told that gangsters from Boston used them as a way station for illegal alcohol.”
“Sounds like there would be plenty to explore, then. Do you think Miranda might be interested?”
Winnie laughed softly. “I thought this discussion might be headed in that direction. And actually, yes, it’s possible that she would like to explore the caves. Of course you would want to do some work mapping them out first yourself, or go to the Stoneley Historical society and see what they have there regarding the caves. I would insist on that, just to be sure the two of you would be safe.”
“Why? Are there dangers other than the occasional bat?” Maybe the caves were unstable. In that case he wouldn’t take Miranda down there.
“Not really dangers, just situations to be aware of. As I remember the lowest of the caves floods at high tide, so you wouldn’t be able to get in or out that way very safely. Otherwise, there’s not much I can think of that would be a problem.”
“Great. I don’t mind having an excuse to spend some time at the Historical Society.” Especially, Greg thought, when it might result in a way to patch things up with Miranda.
“Would you like to see the back staircase up to the second and third floors, and the more public parts of the second floor as well? I’d offer to show you my library, but I believe that’s where the girls are taking their conference call.”
“I would love to see as much of the house as you’ll show me,” Greg told her. “And I’ll make special note of your library for future reference.” Not all that far in the future, either. He planned to be directly outside that library door when Miranda came out.
When the door to Winnie’s library finally opened, Miranda and Bianca were the first ones out. Bianca had one arm around her sister and was talking in an animated fashion. “You just have to say something to him, Miranda. If he doesn’t respond with an apology, then you’ll know…” She trailed off when she saw Greg in the hallway.
“Well, Reverend Brown. Your timing couldn’t be more perfect.” She turned to Miranda and gave her a brief hug. “Okay, you’re on your own now. I need to rescue Leo before Father bores him to tears.” She gave Greg a smile that didn’t seem to reach her eyes and left.
“I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop,” Greg told her. “Your aunt gave me a tour of the house and I made her show me where her library was.”
“And you knew we were inside?” Miranda’s gaze challenged him.
“I did. And I decided that even if it took another hour of standing here and looking rather foolish, I’d wait for you to come out.” It gave him a lift to watch her small, shy smile.
“Lucky for you, our new private investigator is to the point.”
“Did he give you good news?” Greg didn’t see anything on Miranda’s face that would indicate more unhappiness since she’d gone upstairs.
“She was rather encouraging. Cat says she can trace Mama as far as her family beach house in California. Some of the evidence there indicates that she might have been there as late as early April.”
“That’s great, Miranda. If I packed a beach picnic and showed up on your doorstep tomorrow afternoon about one o’clock, would you tell me more? I promise I’ll guard my tongue so I don’t make any more blunders.”
Miranda stood there with a quizzical look while Greg prayed silently that she would say yes.
“All right,” she finally said. “I imagine that a beach picnic is appropriate for friends.”
“More than appropriate. And I want to talk about developing our friendship into something deeper.” Greg knew his voice trembled a little over the last statement, but so be it. Where Miranda was concerned a little anxiety was worth it if it gave him a second chance.