18

Finn stopped, barely inside the sanctuary doors. Darcy’s voice brushed his soul. The ache of her words broke his heart. He slid down onto the steps, silently retreating from his chase. She didn’t need Finn. She needed God. If her need was for anyone else, Finn would be hard pressed not to feel the sting of jealousy.

Over the last eight years, Finn had quietly struggled with his dependence on God. He rarely admitted his unquenchable need to rely on the Lord, even as a pastor, but he recognized the thirst in Darcy. He imagined Lulu did as well when she’d petitioned Finn to “look after” her Darcy darling.

Subtlety was not Lulu Penhearst’s strong suit or even a suit she owned. He knew Lulu was deeply worried about her niece. During their many hours of lunches, teas, and visits, Lulu had shared glimpses into Darcy’s and Bennett’s unconventional childhood and the split leading the twins in opposite directions. She was always cautious to couch her concern in a clever anecdote about Darcy nearly curing cancer or Bennett saving the life of an ornery college student, but her anxiety was etched into every “victory line” as she liked to call her wrinkles.

When he’d visited Lulu in the hospital this morning, she didn’t even attempt to package her worry in pretty wrapping. “Finn, I tell you that girl will snap in two and the dust from her person will blow to the four corners.”

Lulu’s imagery was just short of painful as she told Finn the details—limited as they were. She had devised a plan to help ease her beloved niece’s struggle. Darcy’s need for structure was the key to helping her heal and determine what her next steps in life would be.

“I won’t be her excuse to shrivel into a spinster,” Lulu said.

From the moment Darcy declared she would lead her aunt’s recovery Lulu had been hatching a plan to unload her niece. Finn was the lucky “unload-ee.” Not that he minded. Something about the hot and cold Darcy Langston drew him into her orbit as if she was the sun and he a mere planet.

The Christmas pageant had been Lulu’s project, but as with many of the wily lady’s ideas, she had skillfully shifted the brunt of responsibility to another—Finn. Despite his hope to be only a cheerleader in the balcony, he had already planned on running the program without her assistance before her accident—coercing his cousin Tessa, the author of the play to help. Her future stepdaughter was set to be the lead, making the arm twisting a mere formality. But when Lulu laid out Darcy’s circumstances, and her need to dive into a project, Finn couldn’t refuse the request to help.

And, now, he was sitting on the steps to the sanctuary, unwilling to intrude on her interlude with God, and yet, unable to retreat. He could try and rationalize his interloping was because Darcy was a broken soul in need of pastoral counseling, but that kind of lie would disavow his own relationship with the Lord. He certainly wanted to comfort her, just not necessarily with the skills he’d learned in seminary.

He was drawn to her. Period.

His poking her was a bad attempt at trying to clean her wound by bringing it to the surface. He thought he had gone too far when she ran from the kitchen, but listening to her broken words he knew God had met Darcy where she ran.

Help her, Father.

Nothing more needed to be said. God knew the pain Finn could see and the deeper hurts Darcy was unaware even existed. Only God could fix the broken. Broken hearts. Broken spirits. Broken souls. Mending the broken was what God did. Finn could testify.

The melodic chorus of the old hymn “Holy Ground” slipped through his spirit as Darcy sang. Her voice was sweet. Soft.

He sensed she was concluding her conversation and he stretched to stand. He intended to head to his office and collect the boots and extra wind pants he kept in the back closet in case he needed to clean the sidewalks, but following through on good intentions wasn’t in his DNA.

His legs gobbled the five stairs up in two steps. The invisible curtain blocking him from the sanctuary was heavy with the pain he could feel released from the only other person in the expansive room. Pressing through, he took tentative steps up the aisle.

Darcy rested her head on the pew in front of her. She remained still despite the echo of his shoes against the hardwood floor. He slid onto the pew behind her and waited. Stretching his arms wide along the back of the bench, he glanced around the understated room. Even decorated for Christmas, with a wreath in the choir loft and the Advent candles situated to the left of the altar, the sanctuary remained a place of simple holiness.

“How long have you been listening?” If the room hadn’t been perfectly silent, he would have missed the question.

“I followed you, but I left you alone to chat with God. I only entered when I heard you stop singing.”

“I wasn’t singing.” She said with a sniff.

“Well, then, maybe Guard-Ann is here too, because I definitely heard a sweet song.”

She twisted to face him.

Her cheeks were splotchy. Her eyes were swollen and wet. Her hair was knotted in a lopsided bun.

He swallowed against the thick lump. He was a goner. “Can I help?”

She shrugged. “I have to figure out what’s next.”

“But not tonight.”

She shook her head. “No, not tonight. Or even in the next several tomorrows. But at some point, I need to figure it out. And I will.”

“Really?”

“God promised.”

He felt a coil unfurl in his belly. “And He always keeps His promises.”

Scrubbing her face, she stood and moved to the aisle. “So, about this program…”