4

ELLA WAS SURPRISED by how excited she was to get back to Laurel Mountain Church with Gran on her arm. She’d been here as recently as Easter, but it felt different now. She’d been feeling more and more like her old self since coming home and this was part of what she needed to regain her footing. The one-room church with its steeple pointed heavenward was something that would never change. Here was her firm foundation.

Helping Gran up the steps one at a time, she felt proud that she was the seventh generation in the Phillips family to sit in these pews—a descendant of the founders. Looking around, she was surprised at how small the congregation was this morning, maybe twenty in all. Ella remembered the pews being full when she was a child. Probably sixty or seventy people would crowd in to hear Reverend Archibald Ashworth preach. But he’d retired the summer before, and Mom said several pulpit supply pastors had filled in until they sent someone new to take over. Dad talked like the church might not last much longer if something didn’t change. But Ella wasn’t worried—Laurel Mountain Church was a fixture in Wise. This wasn’t a falling-down chicken coop; this was the lifeblood of the community.

“His name is Richard Goodwin,” Mom whispered in Ella’s ear. “He’s been here three months now. I think the turnout is pretty good because folks are still curious about him.” She flicked her eyebrows. “We have yet to see if he’s going to be able to gain ground, though. He’s supposed to be rebuilding the church.”

Pastor Goodwin stepped up to the pulpit as the congregation settled in. Ella marveled that twenty people was considered a good turnout. The pastor was youngish and looked like he should be playing tennis or sailing a boat. Ella thought he looked too . . . what? Affluent? He just didn’t quite fit here.

Ella didn’t pay much attention to the service, but rather basked in the familiarity of the place and the comfort of having her grandmother here and on the mend. For now, the only thing anyone expected of her was to sit and at least pretend to listen. It was a relief.

Reverend Goodwin finally wrapped up his sermon and invited the congregation to stand for the closing hymn. Sometimes Ella struggled to focus on Scripture or the message, but the traditional hymns held her attention. Mavis Sanders banged away at an old upright piano while the people sang from worn hymnals.

The church featured two front doors, which confounded more than one bride marrying into the local community, and since Pastor Goodwin could only stand at one of the doors to shake hands, Ella made sure Sadie had Gran in hand before slipping out the second door. She headed for the cemetery and went straight to her grandfather’s headstone with its unique inscription. Casewell died long before Ella was born, and she’d heard all her life what a good man she missed out on knowing.

Lost in bittersweet ruminations, Ella jumped when someone spoke.

“Your mother said you came out here, and I wanted to make it a point to meet you,” said Reverend Goodwin. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Oh no—just visiting family.” Ella waved a hand at the stones around her.

“It’s nice to remember where you come from.” He smiled. “I’m Reverend Richard Goodwin, but you can call me Richard.” He grimaced. “Actually, please call me Richard. I can’t seem to get any of my congregants to call me anything but Pastor.”

“Calling you by your first name probably seems too familiar to them. Don’t worry. I hear it took Archie a good five years before they really embraced him when he first came forty years ago. I think that’s why he stayed—too hard to break in a new congregation.”

They stood with Casewell’s gravestone between them. Ella became acutely aware of the way the sun gave Richard’s light brown hair blond highlights. His gray eyes didn’t quite go with his hair color, creating a vague feeling of dissonance. Seeing him in the pulpit, she would have thought he’d tower over her, but now, standing so close, she could see he was only a few inches taller.

They both spoke at once. Richard laughed. “Go ahead.”

“I was going to ask where you’re from, since your ancestors aren’t laid out at our feet.” Ella winced. Did that sound irreverent? But if Richard thought so, he gave no indication.

“I’m from Connecticut. My family is mostly gone now, and I was never all that attached to the place where I grew up, so I decided to make my way south. This area suits me.” He scanned the cemetery, the church, and the valley beyond. His gray eyes appeared to turn the color of early morning fog. “It’ll suit me even better once people warm up to me.” Then he added, “Not that they haven’t been nice. I just get the feeling I’m on some sort of probation.”

“Of course you do.” Ella laughed. “You are.”

They stood smiling, silence mounting. It should have felt awkward, but Ella felt peaceful instead.

Finally, Richard said, “Your grandmother looks like she’s doing better. I haven’t been to see her since she doesn’t really know me, but I’d like to visit if you think she’d welcome it.”

“I think she’d like that. She’s recovered a lot of her movement, but language is slow coming so she’s not much for conversation. I’m sure she’d enjoy having a cup of coffee and listening to us chat, though.”

Richard looked like a little boy who’d been offered a puppy. “I’d enjoy that, too. I’ll plan to come by one day this week, if that’s all right.”

“We’ll look forward to seeing you.”

Did he sound eager or was Ella imagining things? Attraction sparked, but she quelled it. He was a pastor. And she’d managed to stay clear of any romantic entanglements since breaking up with Mark. Not that she hadn’t thought about dating again; she just wanted to be extra careful after her last poor choice.

Ella turned back toward the parking area. When she stumbled over a footstone, Richard reached out to steady her. She was surprised at his large callused hands. Farmer’s hands, she thought, and felt that spark again.

Richard walked her to Aunt Sadie’s car and opened the rear door for her so that she could slide in behind Gran. “I enjoyed meeting you, Ella. I hope I’ll see you back in church next week. If nothing else, it’ll mean I’ve increased the congregation by one.” He closed the door, stepped back, and watched the car pull out of the lot and drive away.

“I think you made an impression on the new pastor,” Sadie said. “Mother, I’d ask what you think, but you’ll speak in code.”

Ella cringed, not sure why there was such tension between mother and daughter. She reached over the seat and squeezed Gran’s shoulder.

“I think. Too soon. To tell,” Gran said, reaching up to grasp Ella’s fingers.

Ella laughed. Gran always did have a way of summing things up.

“Those last pieces you did sold out fast. When will you have more for me?” Ella had finally returned the third call from Sylvia, the owner of the shop where she sold most of her art pieces. “It’s best to strike while the iron is hot, and you’re hot right now.”

Ella wrinkled her nose. She usually loved talking about—and selling—her art quilts, but she hadn’t been able to get anything to come out the way she wanted since that stupid lunch with Mark. “I’ve got a few things in the works, but nothing I’m ready to share . . .” Ella trailed off, not quite prepared to lie outright.

Sylvia made a tsking sound. Ella could picture the gallery owner tucking her silver hair behind her ear and tapping a finger against her lower lip.

“What about that dandelion piece I saw last time I was in your apartment?”

Ella pictured the half-finished wall hanging of an overlarge dandelion puff against an azure background. She’d wanted the flower to have a sense of lightness, an ethereal quality, but the thread wouldn’t cooperate. She grimaced. “It just isn’t quite right—there’s something missing.”

“What? The colors are great, and the composition is solid. Finish it off and I can sell it in five minutes.”

Ella flopped down across her bed and stared at the ceiling. “Maybe next week.” She pictured two squares at the bottom of her workbag with pastoral images—rolling meadows, cows, and trees. One featured bright sunflowers that were too happy for Ella’s taste. “I guess I have a couple that aren’t exactly inspired I could send you.”

Sylvia snorted. “Inspiration is for people who don’t have bills to pay. Send me what you have.” She hesitated a moment, as though deciding whether or not she had anything else to say. “Mark stopped by yesterday.”

Ella froze. “He did? Was he looking for the perfect piece of country kitsch to add to his ultramodern kitchen?” She tried to make a joke, but unease settled over her.

“He wanted to see your work specifically. I told him I was out, and he asked if I expected you to come in anytime soon. Seemed like maybe he’d gone by your apartment a couple of times and when he didn’t find you there thought to see what I knew.”

“What did you tell him?” Ella could hear the strain in her voice and seriously doubted Sylvia would miss it.

“Just that you were out of town and I didn’t know for certain when you’d be back. He gave me his number and asked me to call him when I got some more of your work in.” She paused. “Are you two dating again?”

Sylvia asked the question lightly, yet Ella knew her friend cared deeply about her and really wanted to know. She petted the soft fabric of the quilt on her bed—the material had worn until it was like silk to her fingers. “No. He called me a while back out of the blue to have lunch.” She sighed. “I probably shouldn’t have agreed to see him. I may have given him the wrong idea, although I thought I was clear. I can’t imagine why he’s suddenly interested again.”

Ella could hear Sylvia moving the phone around—it clicked against her earrings. “You know I was never a big fan of Mark’s and I still don’t trust him. You be careful. That man always did make me uneasy.” Ella heard Sylvia’s heels tapping across tile now. “Maybe you should stay put in West Virginia for a while. I know your family needs you, and you can work on your art anywhere. I can pack some things up and ship them to you.”

Ella leaned off the end of the bed and hooked a hand through the straps of her sewing bag, dragging it up and onto her lap. “I do have some stuff here, but you wouldn’t know what else to pack—”

“Wouldn’t I? I’ll gather it up this afternoon. You’ll have everything you need plus a few things you didn’t know you wanted before the week is out.” Sylvia sounded so pleased with herself, Ella didn’t have the heart to say no.

“Okay, okay. Maybe digging into some work will be good for me.”

“That’s my girl. Call me if you need anything.”

Ella ended the conversation and stared out the open window, slumping on her bed like a cranky teenager. Her parents didn’t have air-conditioning, and she craved the breeze slipping through the screen. The sky was that sort of gray that brought gloom without actually producing rain. Then a beam of sunlight pierced the leaden sky like a needle shooting through fabric and Ella jerked upright. She knew then what was missing from the dandelion piece. She dug it out, found a spool of silvery thread, and set to work.