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IT HAD BEEN A LITTLE less than three weeks since Katie took over the house called Lacewood, and she no longer woke up wondering where she was. The sound of the birds singing joyfully outside her window put a smile on her face the moment she awoke, making her wonder how she survived so long living in the madness of an urban environment.
Neither had she ever slept so well in her entire life—especially without the assistance of alcohol or pills. Of course most of it had to do with an all-embracing exhaustion at the end of each day, but she was grateful for the rest, and welcomed the revitalization brought on by a good night’s sleep.
This morning was different. After studying the patch of cracked plaster on the high ceiling, right over her head, Katie closed her eyes, consumed by the strange feeling she’d lost something dear to her.
An image of the monument flitted through her mind, followed by the memory of Colonel Wescott.
He was gone. Lost. It pained her to think he was also forgotten.
Katie turned her head toward the window and took in the sight of the horizon turning a deep, rosy hue, seeming to stretch to infinity. The curtains danced lazily in a breeze, infusing the room with the blended fragrance of wild honeysuckle and roses.
Now wide-awake, Katie sat up and studied the room, still deep in shadow. This was Colonel’s Wescott’s library. It had to be. She perceived a strong presence here, along with a painful feeling of loss. Yet from the very first, the space also imparted a feeling of security and comfort.
Silly perhaps, but Katie ached to find out more about this person she didn’t know and would never get to meet. At times she sensed him here, a presence almost tangible enough to touch, yet always at the very edge of her peripheral vision, just out of reach.
Rolling off the air mattress, Katie shuffled into the kitchen, where coffee was already brewing. In the past week something deep inside her had changed—something she couldn’t explain or rationalize. But as she sipped her coffee and beheld the dawning of a new day, she had the strangest feeling there was meaning to it all.
There has to be, she thought, as she contemplated the green and growing world. It seemed the flowers had grown by inches overnight and the woods beyond were now thick and bursting with new life. All of nature seemed to be awakening with her, smiling in happy response to the spreading wave of golden sunbeams.
Katie felt increasingly more alive every morning she awoke at Lacewood. Whether it was the inspiration of past generations soaking into her while she slept, or perhaps her grandmother reaching out from another world, she didn’t know.
All this new reflection because of names engraved on a stone.
It was strange...but true. The monument in the park had brought new meaning to the history of her house, along with a fresh perspective on her own life.
Katie wrapped both hands around the mug and closed her eyes. How strange that the lives of young men swept away by a raging war would somehow reach out like ripples through time to impact the future. To touch her.
She set the coffee down on the counter and headed back to her makeshift bedroom. Today was Sunday. She was going to go to church.
* * *
KATIE DIDN’T RELISH the idea of going out in public, but she’d spotted the old stone church on her way into town and yearned to see the inside. The fact that she knew no one in the congregation—and no one knew her—made her decision to attend a little easier. Yes, she would be in public, but she would be anonymous. Simply another face in the crowd.
Picking out a floral sheath dress, she braided her hair and coiled it on top of her head instead of wearing it in the usual ponytail. Humming as she put on her makeup, she smiled at the bright eyes twinkling back at her in the mirror.
She had a lot to be thankful for, and felt the need to express it. The sight of the house of worship nestled in a grove of tall oaks made her want to reconnect, feel the special bond she remembered as a little girl sitting in a pew with Grammy. She hadn’t set foot in a church since the day she watched her grandmother being lowered into the ground.
When she pulled into the gravel lot, Katie was surprised by the number of cars already parked hither and yon. She found it hard to believe the small church could hold so many parishioners and wondered if she’d stumbled upon a special event rather than a service. The thought almost made her lose her nerve and turn around, but she forced herself out of the car, and kept her mind occupied by studying the ground.
What might lie just below the surface here? Arrowheads used by Indians? Cannonballs from the Civil War? A ring from a loved one? Coins from centuries past?
When Katie stepped onto the stone walkway, she paused and squinted at the building looming before her. A bronze plaque on the wall revealed the church was built in 1797. Below the marker sat a small wooden sign reading:
Wounded Union prisoners of war spent four nights here in May 1862.
“Weep not for him who departs life, for there is no suffering beyond death.”
A strange feeling passed over Katie as she read the words, a sensation of doom that left her shaky. She contemplated the church and its grounds as she drew closer, trying to imagine the wounded men waiting to learn their fate.
Hearing voices coming up behind her, Katie took a deep breath and pulled on the heavy metal handle. The slightly musty smell of the vestibule replaced the fresh air outside, but it was a familiar, comforting scent. As soon as the door closed behind her, Katie was approached by a silver-haired woman in a navy blue dress who displayed obvious surprise at seeing her.
“Welcome to New Hope Church of God,” she said, shaking Katie’s hand and offering her a program at the same time. “It’s so nice to see you. You must be—”
“Good morning,” Katie mumbled. Not wanting to chat, she took the paper and quickly entered the sanctuary. Big mistake.
Was it her imagination, or did the entire congregation stop talking and turn when she entered? So much for anonymity. As a noticeable hush settled over the room, Katie slid into the back pew and bent her head, pretending to study the program.
Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all. Maybe people around here don’t like outsiders coming to their church. They’ve been nice enough, but maybe this is a line I shouldn’t cross.
Katie had trouble concentrating on the program, but when the calming sounds of the organ began, she relaxed a little. As she pulled out the hymnal, Katie tentatively rested the tips of her fingers on the back of the worn pew in front of her. How many impatient children and their elders have sat and prayed here? How many joyful weddings and grief-stricken funerals have taken place here?
When Katie remembered the sign outside the door, she thought of the Union soldiers held as prisoners more than a hundred fifty years earlier—perhaps severely injured, most definitely very scared. This was a safe and comforting space, but surely they knew what awaited them would not be. She breathed through a head-to-toe shiver and turned her attention to the sanctuary.
Three large chandeliers, suspended by chains, were attached to the original rough-hewn beams. The lights were reproductions, but they added a sense of long-ago times and cast a soft glow, enhancing the colorful radiance beaming through the stained-glass windows. The sight made her smile. Sabbath sunbeams is what her Grammy used to call the spectacle of light stabbing through church windows.
Remembering Grammy’s wise sayings usually triggered a wave of sadness and pain, but today Katie felt a strange, peaceful calm. The thought of this timeless space, and the prayers of generations of worshippers soaking into the surroundings, wrapped around her like a blanket, providing comfort and reassurance.
When the service began, Katie concentrated on the message, and liked the soft-spoken preacher immediately. She found the hymns beautiful, and the Bible reading from Corinthians inspiring: Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things...endures all things.
She settled into her seat, reassured, thankful—and surprised when the pastor announced the topic of the sermon: New Beginnings.
Another coincidence? Or did God place me in this pew on this day to hear this message?
Katie listened carefully to every word, trying to reconcile the pain of the past with this new message of hope for the future. It seemed as if the pastor was talking directly to her.
A divine nudge? Or a celestial shove?
Her mind began to wander as she pondered the past. Katie knew that death was a part of life. Unescapable. Inevitable. Yet death had been unfamiliar and intangible until her grandmother died. Losing someone had been an abstract concept...something that happened to other people.
She recalled something the preacher said at her grandmother’s funeral: “Only when someone is taken does the awful intensity of absence hit us. Only then do we understand how unready we are...how unready we will ever be. Even as we see others going through the life-changing event, we cannot fathom the permanent loss, the suffering that can neither be explained nor calculated...”
Nor endured.
Katie pushed that thought away. She had spent the last twenty years trying to accept her grandmother’s passing as something final. Yet now she was beginning to grasp that just because Grammy wasn’t here, didn’t mean her legacy didn’t live on. She remained a beacon of light, capable of influencing Katie’s life in this world...and beyond.
“My friends,” the pastor said, pulling her back to the present as he wrapped up the sermon. “Love is the law of God. You live that you may learn to love. You love that you may learn to live.”
Katie bowed her head and said a quick prayer of gratitude for the message, then grabbed her purse and stood. She wanted to be among the first out the door so she wouldn’t be stuck in line having to make conversation.
But before she got to the aisle she inadvertently met the probing eyes of Will Durham about four pews away. He gave a slight nod to acknowledge her, and then turned to converse with one of the other parishioners who led him away deep in conversation.
“I understand you bought the Lacewood house.”
Katie jumped as someone tapped her on the shoulder. “Oh...ah...yes.” She turned and accepted the hand of the same silver-haired woman she’d seen on the way in. “Katie McCain.”
“I thought so. I’m Gladys Tisdale.” She eyed Katie closely, as if memorizing every feature for a future conversation. “My husband Ben, God rest his soul, was the local judge.” she talked loudly and dramatically, like someone who enjoyed being the center of attention, and used casual gossip as a means to get it.
“Oh,” Katie said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Well, he’s been gone years now, but everyone in these parts knows him. He was a very beloved man.” She didn’t give Katie time to comment. “Our son runs the bank. There’s only one in town, so I guess you’ll be wanting to set up an account there.”
“Of course.” Changing financial institutions was on Katie’s to-do list, but she didn’t relish the inevitable hassle, so had been putting it off. She tried to continue to the exit, but Mrs. Tisdale blocked her path.
“I’ll tell him to expect you,” Mrs. Tisdale said, nodding enthusiastically. “You should probably wait until Tuesday. The bank is very busy on Monday, and Sally is still off on maternity leave, so he has to fill in. I’ll tell him you’ll be there Tuesday. Shall we say ten?”
“That’s very kind of you.” Katie was not sure how the comment that she needed to set up an account at the bank turned into a ten o’clock appointment on Tuesday, but she smiled through the exchange and made her way past Gladys, toward the door.
Mrs. Tisdale suddenly waved, and then directed Katie’s attention to two people on the other side of the church. “Have you met Mel and Nancy Owens? They own the Mill Pub.”
Katie lifted her hand to acknowledge the couple since Mrs. Tisdale stood pointing at them.
“Come with me, I’ll introduce you.” Mrs. Tisdale didn’t wait for a response. She took Katie’s arm and pulled her to the other side of the church, nudging people out of the way since they were moving in the opposite direction of everyone else.
“This is the lady who bought Lacewood,” she proclaimed loudly, blocking the aisle now. “Katie McCain...Mel and Nancy Owens.”
Katie held out her hand and smiled. “I’m not much of a cook, so I’ll probably be stopping by soon.”
“We’d love to see you,” Nancy said. “Come by anytime.”
Mrs. Tisdale had turned to talk to someone else, so Katie took the opportunity to quietly make her way to the door. As she returned to the back of the church, a movement from outside a glass window caught her attention. A young woman walked toward a gravesite in the cemetery, placed a kiss on her fingertips and then touched the top of a tombstone. Her lips moved as if she were talking to someone, and after bowing her head a moment, she turned away.
Katie lowered her gaze so she wouldn’t make eye contact, but she would never forget the sorrow on the young woman’s face.
Moving with the crowd, Katie was soon standing in the vestibule again. After shaking the hand of the pastor and thanking him for the sermon, she walked outside and indulged in a deep sigh of relief for having escaped the clutches of Mrs. Tisdale. She hoped she hadn’t been rude by walking away, but she didn’t want to say or do anything that would end up being repeated through the grapevine.
“They have coffee and donuts in the basement if you’re interested in hearing the latest town gossip,” said a deep voice right behind her.
Katie turned in surprise, recognizing the voice instantly. Will Durham wore a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a tie, and black jeans. He was clean-shaven today, and wore neither ball cap nor sunglasses. Maybe that was why his hair appeared so dark and wavy, and why his eyes seemed an even deeper shade of blue.
“No, ah, thanks. I have a lot of work to do...and I really don’t know anybody.”
“I’ll introduce you.” He stood there, boldly intimidating, as if impatient for an answer, but she detected a sense of indifference and detachment in his attitude, as if he really didn’t care one way or the other. In fact, the look on his face indicated he was trying to be nice but wanted her to know he wasn’t enjoying the experience.
Katie appreciated the effort but didn’t want to impose—nor did she intend to become the town gossip. As Will turned to acknowledge a pat on the back by a fellow parishioner, she stole a glance at his face. Those eyes were captivating, and now she knew why. They were guarded. Secretive. Off-limits. Getting close to this man would be by invitation only.
...and it was pretty clear from his attitude that her invitation had either been lost in the mail—or never been sent.
“Thanks. Really. But I wasn’t expecting to stay. I have a lot of work to do at the house.”
His attention strayed to someplace over her shoulder, as if impatient for the conversation to end. “Sorry I haven’t stopped by yet. Some things came up.”
“No problem. I’ve been busy too.” An awkward silence followed. “But umm...” Katie’s heart pounded in her ears when his unflinching gaze returned and locked on hers. “If the weather is nice, I might explore outside a little this week. Do you have a weed trimmer or something I can borrow?”
Will’s mouth turned upward as if she just told him a good joke, but then his face lost all signs of humor. “I’ll stop by tomorrow afternoon and see what I can do.” Without another word, he turned and went back into the church.