Jess barely touched her supper. After Anna’s unwitting reprimand, Jess’ heart spun on a carousel as fast the one the Germans had constructed inside the camp. Her shoulders bent, wearied from the struggle to capture peace but determined to hold to her cause. Her pain deserved justice, just as the man who’d almost killed her brother and then defiled her deserved whatever justice he received beyond the grave.
The thought caught. What justice did he face at this moment? She’d killed him in self-defense, sent him to his eternal destination. A shiver trembled over her skin and strained her emotions, raw and aching. Tears teetered for release, as they’d done since her conversation with Anna. She couldn’t keep living like this.
Even her struggle to distance herself from August grew more difficult with each passing day. Everything about him, from his gentleness, to his quiet strength, to the teasing glint in his morning-blue eyes, called to all the bruised places in her heart for a shelter. A refuge from the chaos of nightmares and harbored grief.
Her smile bloomed, starting around her heart and moving upward. And she enjoyed his conversation.
She kicked against the resignation, the old argument rising to battle her weaknesses. She didn’t need a man’s protection. Faith nestled close, staring back at Jess with unwavering confidence. Trust.
But every little girl needed to know the strength of a daddy, as she’d known. The presence of someone who’d stand up to all the monsters or bullies in the world. And that desire still wove into grown-up girls’ hearts, though molded into a different sort of hero.
A hero she didn’t necessarily need...
Jess sighed deeper into the dining chair. But a hero she wanted.
The internal admission turned the few bites of chicken she’d eaten sour in her stomach, but her heart pulsed a stronger beat. The very thought of sharing her burdens, blessings, dreams, and cares with someone who might also buffer the trials of life alongside her encouraged a welcome whisper of daydreams.
But certainly not August Reinhold! His camp would transition out of Hot Springs, on to Georgia, and then back to Germany. Despite what August or Anna wanted, staying in America after the war seemed unlikely.
“I hear you didn’t get to introduce Mr. Little to the finer points of mountain life yesterday, Uncle Jacob?” Cliff took Jessica’s plate from the table, tossing her a mischievous smile. “I reckon my company was a great disappointment compared to the sophisticated Englishman.”
Jess exaggerated her eye-roll, grateful for his levity intruding into her thoughts.
“No.” Her grandfather finished up his meal at the end of the table. “He had an unexpected meeting with some professor in Asheville, so he left on the early train. Told me he’d like to reschedule for next week, but I’m not sure what our week will look like once Alexander and David arrive.”
“I know Jessica’s been sparkin’ him, but I’m not too impressed with the fancy fellow.”
“Cliff Carter, I’ll have you know I’ve not been sparkin’ anybody.” But her familiarity with Jasper Little annoyed her usual sensibilities. Why had she warmed up to the man so quickly? The unfamiliar response bounded against her typically cautious nature.
“What does sparkin’ mean?” Jude’s voice rose above her grandpa’s chuckle.
Jessica’s eyes fluttered closed.
“It means Miss Jesse has a particular interest in Mr. Little’s company.” Cliff snuck a maple cookie from Granny’s offering on the counter and pointed it at Jessica. “In the hopes he’ll take a particular interest too.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Cliff.”
“I don’t like Mr. Little.” Jude’s little nose wrinkled with his admission. “Why don’t you spark August instead?”
“That is one fine question, Jude. Why don’t you spark August instead?” Cliff leaned against the counter and tilted his head, his gaze needling her response while he took a bite of his cookie.
Jess stood and snatched the remaining cookie from Cliff’s hand, then pointed it at him like a weapon. “Cliff Carter, you are the most exasperating man on this planet. Don’t put ideas in Jude’s head.”
“Just because you don’t appreciate my certain brand of charm, doesn’t mean I’m exasperating.” He reached for another cookie without hesitation. “And don’t try to change the subject. Your boy asked you a very thoughtful question.”
“What does exasperatin’ mean?”
Jess smiled at ‘her boy.’ “It means Uncle Cliff needs to mind his own business.”
The daggers she shot her cousin bounced off his self-satisficed smirk. He glanced around her. “And just why do you think your mama ought to spark August, Jude?”
Grandpa’s chuckle didn’t help one bit. “This brings back memories.”
“I’d better snatch Faith before they get worse.” Granny wedged in between Jess and Cliff to pry little Faith from Jess’ arms. “You remember the time she jumped on Cliff’s back and held on by his hair?”
“Granny! I was seven.” Jess reluctantly released her little, squirming bundle.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t make it to blows again, the two of you.” She eyed them both, a laugh in her smile, before returning to her chair to coo over Faith.
Jess returned her attention to her annoying cousin. “I don’t feel the need to be sparkin’ anyone, at present.”
“I saw Mr. Little talkin’ up a storm with that Davis man, and I don’t think he’s good through-and-through.”
“Smart boy.”
Jess smacked Cliff’s shoulder.
“Now, Cliff, just because he’s talking with the Davises doesn’t mean he’s a problem.” Granny’s sweet reprimand came out with steely undertones.
Cliff hitched a brow as if he didn’t catch one hint of Granny’s tone. Stubborn man. “Doesn’t mean there isn’t either.” He turned to Jude. “What do you like about August, Jude?”
Jess groaned and rubbed her forehead. Trouble maker. “Leave the boy alone, Cliff.”
Jude swallowed the last bite of potatoes in his mouth, unaware of Uncle Cliff transforming into a complete nuisance.
“You already know,” came Jude’s reply. “You done seen it too.”
Jess turned completely around to face her ‘little boy’ as Cliff called him. She liked the sound of it. “Seen what?”
“All the good things about August.” Jude reached to take a cookie from the plate that Granny had moved to the center of the table, seemingly oblivious to the mystery his words evoked.
“Like what?”
Jude munched on his cookie, barely casting a glance to the adults listening in. “You know, he smiles with his whole face, and he sits on the porch with me.”
Jess slid back down into her chair, trying to make some sense of Jude’s simple statement. “Sits on the porch with you?”
“Yes, ma’am. Like Grandpa and Cliff do. They don’t mind sittin’ on the porch steps to tawk.”
Jess exchanged a look with Granny. Did Jude have memories of his father? Had he known long talks on a porch step or a family game of badminton? The simplicity in his statement spoke volumes and opened the hurt for him in her heart even more. He had no idea how his words pierced the room.
“And you don’t have to ask if he’s good or not. Mama says the best folks do good even when no one’s lookin’. I seed him work hard. Make purdy things with his hands. Help folks, even when no one’s lookin’. I reckon that’s worth somethin’.”
He took a drink of his milk and looked up, staring from one face to the other, and finally landing his attention on Granny. “These are real good cookies, Granny.”
“He is a smart boy.” Granny tossed Jess one of those looks Jess really wanted to ignore but found her gaze inextricably linked to Granny’s against her will. “There’s a whole lot of truth in those words.”
Jess shot back a glare—a respectful glare so as not to incur wrath—and stood. She walked to the sink and rinsed off her plate before placing it in the tub of soapy water for washing, avoiding everyone’s curious looks. “I don’t have a particular interest in anyone except Jude and Faith at present, so all of these painfully obvious hints are a waste of good scheming, if you ask me.”
Grandpa stood and stretched out his back, taking his plate up to the counter to slide his scraps into the pummy dish. Jude’s dog definitely didn’t go hungry too often, but with Jude’s arrival, the scraps decreased significantly. The boy ate like a man.
Jess took the plate from Grandpa’s hands and scrubbed it with more force than necessary. He’d practically licked it clean.
“Speaking of August, we ain’t seen him in two days. Do you know if he’s all right? He rarely passes by without stoppin’ in.”
Cliff’s expression took a distinct turn, and Jess put the plate aside. Something was wrong.
“Jude, would you run out and give some of these pummies to the dogs?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He shot up, delivered his plate, and disappeared out the back door.
Jess wiped her fingers on her apron. “What is it?”
“August is down at the chapel working today.”
“We didn’t see him pass,” Grandpa said.
“Why didn’t he come by and get some dinner?” Granny stood too, Faith now asleep in her arms. “What’s happened?”
Cliff braced his palms against the counter and raised his gaze to Jess’, hesitating. Her stomach tightened for the awaiting blow. “I reckon you’ll hear about it soon enough, but I didn’t want you to jump to the wrong conclusions.”
“What are you talking about?”
“August is afraid of what ya’ll will think about him since he’s recently been falsely accused.”
“What?” Her grandparents’ response came in unison.
“Seems someone wrote letters to contacts in Germany sharing particular information about Allied movements on the Front. August and two other men were framed for the job.”
Everyone grew quiet. Her grandpa placed a hand to Granny’s shoulder.
Not again. Not another traitor hurting people she loved! It didn’t make sense. Anna’s story about their childhood and August’s disinheritance? August’s apparent kindness to her family and especially the children. Her faith faltered. But she’d been wrong before. Worked alongside a doctor serving wounded and dying soldiers who’d betrayed them all, and nearly killed her brother in the process. What if... what if she was wrong again?
Grandpa shook his head, his hand coming down on the counter with a thud. “That makes me plumb mad. We’ve been gettin’ on just fine in this community with these men for a year and someone comes along now, at the end of their stay, to cause trouble? And for August, of all people?”
Cliff picked up his jacket and hat from a seat nearby and started for the door. “I’m just glad Ruser and the other officers know a lie when they see one. Now, I gotta get back. I’m working the evening shift tonight, but I sure do appreciate a good supper, Aunt Lillian.”
Granny palmed Cliff’s cheek with her customary love-pat. “You can stop by any time. You always gotta place here, boy.”
“So does August.” Grandpa added. “Tell him that when you see him.”
Cliff looked her way, his expression beckoning her forward. “Walk me out, Jess. Will ya?”
Jess followed Cliff to the porch, late afternoon light waxing long and orange across the backyard. He stopped by the steps and tilted his head to examine her face. “I saw it on your face in there. The doubt. You’re worried August is guilty.”
“Anyone’s capable of treachery if given the right incentive, Cliff.” Her defenses riled against him, the old stings reviving her anger. “Even someone as seemingly sweet as August Reinhold.”
“The only thing August Reinhold and Lt. Snyder have in common is where they were born.” He jerked his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. “Good grief, Jessica, whatever else you suffered from the war, please tell me it didn’t steal your common sense. Use the clear-headedness I’ve always admired in you and see the truth.”
“I don’t have time to listen to your platitudes, cousin.” She turned toward the door but he caught her arm.
“Stop it. Just stop it. The world is filled with hurting people, but that doesn’t give us the right to sentence innocent ones to the same fate as the guilty. August had nothin’ to do with what happened to you in Europe, but you’ve been punishing him since you got home for crimes he didn’t commit.”
Cliff’s words propelled her to the attack. If nothing else, she had to defend herself, protect her anger. “And you’ve been encouraging Jude and even my grandparents to welcome him in like a long lost son. What do you really know about this stranger, Cliff?”
“He’s not a stranger. He’s my friend, and if your head wasn’t fogged with bitterness, you’d see the truth as plain as Jude does.”
“You have no idea what happened to me. What I’ve been through.”
“No, I don’t know all you’ve suffered, but do you think I don’t understand what it feels like to be betrayed? By God? That raw wound of utter loneliness and pain of thinking God would allow something so unjust to happen to me?”
He spoke directly to her heart, naming her scars. She nearly buckled from the agony of the fight. Every logical thought in her head recognized her irrational assumptions and screamed ‘foul,’ but her stubborn heart refused to release the pain and fury.
Cliff jammed his hat back on his head. “When Elizabeth and our baby died, I knew. I could have competed with your screams at God.” His fist rammed into his chest. “I still hurt from that loss on a daily basis, occasionally weep for the family I don’t have, but there comes a time for mourning to end and life to start again.”
“And condone what happened?”
“That’s crazy talk. Your hurt and grief’s jumbled up your thinking. You’re so blind by what you think God’s done to you, that you’ve forgotten what God has done for you.”
Anna’s words from earlier came back to mind. Jess fought against their accuracy. Cliff’s too. “He’s allowed some of my friends to die, thousands of young soldiers, almost my brother, and then—” She stopped before confessing Snyder’s horrible assault.
Cliff shook his head. “Listen to yourself. You keep using the same argument over and over. You’re digging your own hole to nowhere.”
She folded her arms across her chest and grimaced at him.
“The only thing bitterness does is change you, not Him. God doesn’t need you. He doesn’t need me.” He stepped closer and gentled a palm on Jess’ shoulder. She stiffened against the unwanted sting of tears at his compassion. “But, Jess, he does even better than that. He wants us. He chooses us. He left Heaven to rescue us.” Cliff shook his head, his own eyes swimming with sunset-tears. “Because when the heartbreak comes, we can see there’s something bigger than our pain. His love gives us strength to let go and trust Him for the purpose.”
She recoiled, jerking her arm free from his touch. “I can’t let go. There’s no justice in letting go. The death, the utter waste of life, the treachery? If I let go, who will grieve for those who’ve lost their lives? Who will fight for them? Who will seek to justify the wrong that’s happened to so many?” To me. She pinched her eyes closed, the nightmarish visions, the unwholesome betrayal striking a fresh sting. “It sounds easy to say God will take care of it, but when it comes down to the truth—”
“You want to seek justice on your own? Revenge?” His words seethed, his eyes alight. “Then what, Jessica? Will your justice bring you peace then? Can you bring back the dead? Restore whatever inside of you that’s lost?”
He stepped close and tugged her into his arms. “You’re still going to feel as empty and lost, even if you find whatever ‘justice’ you’ve defined as the answer.” His words breathed over her hair, burdened with a fading sorrow. “You have a choice. To trust God for the peace you crave and this justice for your soul, or to continue to live in the turmoil of ‘unfair.”
He drew back from her, searching her gaze with a watery one of his own. “Life is unfair. But even in that knowledge, our measurement, our gauge, is skewed.”
She ran the back of her hand across her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“What is fair? What is unfair?” Cliff squeezed her shoulders to punctuate the questions. “The only way we can truly answer those questions is to be able to see the vastness of time and how each choice, each decision, plays out in eternity.” His grin quirked despite a tear slipping down his cheek. “I don’t have that ability or knowledge. And unless something remarkable happened to you over in the war, you don’t either.”
His words hollowed her out, clawing at the anger she clung to. “Then what do I do?”
“You already know, that’s why you’re fightin’ so hard, because you don’t like the answer. Trust has always been hard for you.” He shook his head, stepping back to bestow a comforting smile on her. “I’m not sure why, but it always has, and this war made things worse. There’s a voice inside of you, calling you back to the peace you once knew. It can calm this fury and quell your thirst for justice, because He’s already taken on all the injustices for us. Only He can set your torn heart back to rights.”
Cliff distanced himself with another step and tipped his hat. “It’s your choice. Your justice... or His peace. You can’t hold onto both.”
Jess stood on the porch long after Cliff disappeared down the road. She wanted to block everything he said, push it away from infiltrating her justified resentment, but the truth seeped through the cracks in her faulty logic.
The trail to the chapel beckoned her to follow, abate her curiosity, and perhaps confirm the pestering truth about who August Reinhold really was. Was she ready to accept whatever answer met her down the leaf riddled path?
She walked forward, leaving behind the house and her fear of being wrong. The afternoon sounds of busy forest animals and birdsong came to life around her, awakening her dormant soul to the music of the wood around her... and the God intrinsically connecting it all together? Cliff’s sermon preached a harsh gospel to her anger, but deep inside, she felt the cleansing peroxide of truth, burning at hatred and hollowed-out fear.
This struggle against peace wearied her to her soul. She fisted her will and looked up to the trees branching together overhead like an arbor.
“I can’t do this on my own. I don’t know how, but if you’ll help me let go, I’ll try to trust you. So, please help me....” She took a deep breath and stepped out into the clearing.
Her breath caught.
What had only been a skeleton of her beloved chapel a week ago now emerged from her memories in actual size and form, only better. The steeple tower framed the entry way, as it had before, except a gaping hole waited above the doorway for some special addition. A window, perhaps.
A beautiful ribbon of carving, the design an intricate weave of ivy, dripped down the edges of the doorframe in an immaculate fashion, as lovely as her father’s massive country estate or her sister-in-law’s beloved Beacon House.
Jess stared, lost in the amazement of rediscovery, as if her prayer materialized before her in tangible proof. She glided forward, entranced, emotions bubbling to the top in complete abandon. This chapel, filled with memories so excruciating and sweet, stood almost restored to something even more beautiful than she remembered. How was that possible?
A consistent thud pinged from inside. Hammering. August.
With quiet steps, she approached, taking in the unfinished but carefully fashioned work of a dedicated craftsman, a lovely restoration of something mangled and destroyed.
I will restore your heart.
A prayer caught in her throat with a sob.
August bent low, the muscles in his back moving with the swing of his hammer, revealing his strength. His golden head, uncovered, glistened in waves from his hard work in the silence of the forest. Alone.
Jude’s innocent comment swept through her. The best folks do good even when no one’s lookin’.
The hinge in her spirit swung wider—to God, to hope, and to the possibility that this man was much more than she’d allowed him to be. Someone she... wanted.
***
August nailed another floorboard into place. Only a few more and the oak floor, though unfinished, would be complete. Much like the framework, with its walls and temporary holes for the windows he hoped to add shortly, the chapel had taken form, almost a replica of what stood previously except for a few additions of August’s own design. A grander steeple capped the entryway with a pinnacle surprise waiting to finalize its simple beauty.
He almost smiled but for the aching reminder of his loss. Even if the Carters appreciated his finished product, with the rumor of his letter paired with Jessica’s natural distrust, could they trust him?
Not Jessica. He’d only recently earned a smile and some heart-warming banter, but her trust still dangled beyond reach, trapped in wounds he couldn’t touch, no matter his patient pursuit.
Dear God, what would you have me do?
A crunch of leaves paused his work. He waited for another sound, another hint to the creature invading the quiet of his sanctuary, but silence greeted him, so he finally abated his curiosity and turned. Jessica Ross stood in the doorway, her hand on the frame as if posed for a painter. Her straw hat veiled part of her downturned face, but not enough to keep her mesmerizing gaze from finding his.
The green of her blouse brought out the paler hues in her eyes, captivating him until only force of will drew his attention back to his work.
“You have heard of the letter?” His words echoed back to him off the oak walks.
“Yes,” she replied, barely above a whisper.
He hammered another nail to fill the silence, the skin on his back tingling in awareness of her presence. Was she taunting him? Laughing at him? Reveling in how right she’d been not to trust a German?
He gripped the hammer, giving the nail an unnecessary beating until he dented the wood. With a sigh, he placed the hammer down and stood, turning to face her. “Why are you still here? All your suspicions are confirmed, yes? I am the traitor you hoped.”
She didn’t flinch. Her expression remained impassable except for those large unfathomable eyes. They delved into his with a curiosity and... compassion he’d not seen before. She took another step into his handiwork, her gaze never leaving his.
“You have my grandparents in an uproar of worry, August Reinhold.”
His fist clenched at his side, waiting for the blow of accusation.
“Do you realize how much food my Granny cooks on a daily basis to make sure you eat some of it?”
He blinked, taking in her question. Her... acceptance. His fingers unwound and the tension in his body fled.
She stepped closer, her countenance serious despite the levity in her conversation. “And Grandpa thought you were dying of some horrible disease because he hadn’t seen you in two days, so I advise you to stop by the house on your way back to camp to assure them you are well.”
His grimace relaxed as he searched her face. “I’ll be certain to do so, Miss Ross.”
She examined the chapel, her look of appreciation deepening the warmth in his chest. Blonde curls framed her face like a softened halo, begging his work-wearing fingers to test the texture. She accepted him? Even after the letter? He almost shouted in triumph and took her in his arms.
She placed her hands on her hips. “Now, we have a few hours of daylight left.” Her grin spread with a tip of her brow. “And I think you could use some help.”