23

ELLA LAY IN BED THAT NIGHT, wishing she’d never sent that email to Mark. It was all the opening he’d needed to get a foot back inside the door. Now Mom was singing his praises once again, and she was afraid Seth and Richard were thinking she was playing the field. And then there was his so-called legal advice.

Ella punched her pillow and replayed what he’d said. As guests were leaving, Mark cornered her in the bedroom where she was retrieving jackets.

“So you want to put a stop to this business of Keith’s,” he’d said.

Ella had noticed him deep in conversation with the developer. She felt a moment’s hope that Mark really had come through for her. And she softened toward him just a smidge.

“I do.”

“I doubt there’s much you can do up front,” Mark said. “He seems to have everything well in hand—he’s experienced and professional.”

Ella let her shoulders sag. She’d just been through a somewhat torturous birthday party and wasn’t even going to get any good advice out of it.

“However . . .” Mark stepped closer, and Ella felt a zing up her spine—an unpleasant sort of feeling. She forced herself not to move away. “If someone were to be involved in an accident on the property—preferably a hunting accident—life could get very complicated for Mr. Randolph. If it happened before he’s finished with construction and has all his insurances in place, all the better. A big enough lawsuit might convince Keith this project isn’t worth pursuing.”

Ella did step back this time, grabbing another coat to add to the two already in her arms. She held them like a shield. “An accident. That would be horrible. I’m glad you let me know there’s nothing I can do legally.”

Mark shrugged one shoulder, grabbed his own coat, and looked at Ella like she was his favorite dessert. “Think hard about what I’ve said. Accidents happen all the time, and not only at hunting clubs.” He moved toward the door. “Family farms can be incredibly dangerous.”

Ella stood, frozen to the spot. Will stuck his head through the doorway. “What’s the holdup with the outerwear? We need to get going.” He plucked his jacket from Ella’s arms, gave her a confused look, then hurried back out. Ella tried to swallow past her dry tongue and followed him back into the whirl of departing guests.

The following week, Ella went to her parents’ house to gather up some castoff clothing. She’d been meaning to do it for a while and somehow Mark’s parting words made her want to check in. Not that she’d taken what he said seriously.

Since Aunt Sadie had gone back to Ohio and left her free rein of Gran’s house, her creative juices were flowing again. She had an idea for a series of quilt pieces she would call Appalachian Blessings. She’d use scraps from clothing that had once belonged to family members and friends, people who were the most important blessings in her life. Ella knew Mom had a secret sentimental streak. She hoped that would extend to things like Dad’s old flannel shirts and maybe a few things of her own.

When Ella asked about castoff clothing or other fabric, her mother pinked. “There might be a few things packed away in that cedar chest in my closet. No reason to save most of it, but there you have it.”

Ella grinned. “I was counting on that.”

She practically skipped into her parents’ room and burrowed into the closet to drag out the chest. The smell was lovely—laundry soap, lavender, and cedar. It smelled like Mom. She flipped up the lid and dug into the treasure trove just as Dad wandered in.

“You’ve discovered your mother’s secret. Has she sworn you to never tell?”

“No, I think she might be kind of glad I’m relieving her of having to do something with all this.”

Ella felt for the bottom of the chest, thinking any childhood items would be buried down there. But instead of fabric, her fingers brushed something hard. She pulled out a metal box with a bit of rust on it. It was an old Whitman’s candy tin with an Art Nouveau design.

“This is pretty.” Ella tilted it toward her father.

“Well now, I haven’t seen that in a long time.” Dad stretched out his hand.

“Love letters?” Ella teased, but she doubted it. The box was too heavy for that and it clanked as she handed it over. Maybe it was old coins or an antique pocket watch. Ella itched to know.

Dad smiled. “Love letters of a sort.”

He flipped up the lid and peered inside. His expression softened, and his eyes glistened. Whatever it was, Ella thought, Dad was getting emotional about it. He reached inside and lifted out . . . a rock.

Ella laughed. “A rock? Mom saved a rock?”

“No, I did.” The rock he held was almost white, smooth, with a touch of sparkle. “Found this one in a creek on an icy morning after I’d been up to no good.”

He handed the stone to Ella. It felt weighty, cool, and fit perfectly in the curve of her palm. Dad pulled out another stone, this one rough and squared off—probably quartz. “And I found this one the day my gun misfired and your aunt Mayfair . . .” He trailed off.

“Aunt Mayfair what?” Ella liked to hear stories about her aunt, who had gone to the South American mission field before Ella was born. She’d only met her once but loved her instantly, the way everyone seemed to.

“It wasn’t long after your grandfather died when I was still pretty torn up about it and Mayfair was a real comfort to me. That’s the year I got to know both her and your mother.” Now his eyes twinkled. “And fell in love against my own better judgment.”

He dumped the rest of the box out on the bed where he sat. There were maybe a dozen stones in all. Dad picked through them, rubbing each one as though conjuring the memories they sparked. Ella felt like he’d traveled miles and miles or maybe years and years in the moments he sat there looking at the scattering of rocks.

“But why did you save these?”

Dad cleared his throat. “As a reminder.”

“A reminder of what?”

“Of God’s love for me. Of my own father’s love for me. Of the gift your mother’s love brought into my life.” His voice sounded raspy. He cleared his throat a second time. “And this one”—he held up a small round stone—“is the one I found the day you were born and brought a new love into my life.” He patted the bed beside him. Ella went to him and leaned into his embrace.

“I’m so glad you found these. I’ve been feeling like something’s missing and couldn’t put my finger on it. Now I think I know what’s been bothering me.” He pillowed his cheek on the top of Ella’s head and pressed a stone into her hand. “I’d forgotten how much God loves me and how all I have to do is love Him back. I hope you learn that lesson sooner and more thoroughly than your old hardheaded dad did.”

“We’re having a congregational meeting after church this Sunday.” Mom fussed over a basket of food she wanted Ella to take to Gran.

“What for?”

“To vote on whether or not to accept Keith’s offer to buy the church property.”

“That isn’t really going to happen, is it? Just because a few people who talk too loud think it’s a good idea doesn’t mean it is.”

“I’m not sure it’s such a terrible idea.” Mom tucked a dish towel over the top of the basket.

“Mom, how can you say that?”

“The reality is that attendance has been down for a while now. Giving is down. The building is so much trouble to keep up. It might be worth looking into starting over somewhere else.”

“What does Dad think?”

Dad appeared around the corner. “I think it would be nice to take some of the bits and pieces from the old church—the pulpit, the offering plates and communion things, maybe some of the furniture.” He brightened. “We could even take the pews.”

Ella felt betrayed. She’d just had such a lovely moment with her dad and now he’d turned traitor.

“Don’t you care that it’s our heritage?”

Dad tossed one of his stones up and caught it. “Guess I’ve realized our past can’t be contained by the walls of a church. Maybe it’s time to share our faith with more than the handful of folks who trek up Laurel Mountain each week.”

Ella grabbed the basket her mother placed on the counter and stomped out the door. She knew she was being rude, but she wanted Mom and Dad to see how displeased she was. Three days. She had three days to save the church. This called for drastic measures.

Ella was both surprised and relieved to find that Seth’s address was listed in the phone book. It felt so old school, looking up Seth Markley in the white pages, but it sure was better than asking her overly curious brother for the address. She hopped in the car and headed out to Raccoon Ridge.

Seth lived in a cabin that had probably been around since the 1800s. The squared-off logs were stained a dark red, a stark contrast to the pale chinking in between them. Ella walked up onto the porch with its swing and pots of winter cabbage mixed with pansies. She wouldn’t have thought of Seth as the domestic type, but then what did she know?

Taking a deep breath, Ella knocked on the screen door. Nothing. She knocked again. All remained quiet. Ella wasn’t ready to give up quite so easily. She walked around the cabin to see if there was a back door. She heard a metallic clang as she rounded the last corner and there was Seth, bent over fencing attached to a chicken coop or some such. Banjo lay in the grass nearby, soaking up the sun. Seth cursed under his breath, and Ella smiled. He’d probably rather no one heard that.

“Chicken wire giving you some trouble?”

Seth froze and slowly turned. He straightened and looked Ella up and down without smiling. “As a matter of fact it is. Weasel or maybe a ferret’s been getting the eggs. Won’t be long before it kills a chicken. Best to nip these things in the bud.”

Ella felt uncertain of her plan for the first time since leaving the house. “Sorry to hear that. I . . . uh, I was hoping you might help me out.”

Seth gave her an appraising look. “Come sit on the porch and you can tell me about it.”

He took off a pair of leather gloves and stuffed them in the back pocket of his jeans. Ella realized that his shirt was open almost to the waist with the warmth of the early spring sun and his labor. She looked away as he began buttoning it.

“The congregation is voting on selling the church property this Sunday,” she said, looking up at the treetops as they walked to the front of the cabin.

“So I hear. I’ll probably be there. Although I don’t have a vote, not being a member.”

“That’s right. You once said you don’t have a dog in this fight or something like that.” She risked a look back at him. Why was it that she could often tell exactly what Gran was thinking, but Seth was an utter mystery?

“Right,” he echoed.

Ella felt a little braver for no good reason. “So maybe you’d back my dog.”

Seth laughed as he stepped onto the porch, flopped in a chair, and propped one booted foot on the railing. “Tell me about this dog of yours.”

Twenty minutes later, Ella was on her way to Mavis Sanders’s house with Seth in the passenger seat. He’d rolled his shirtsleeves up and had his right arm resting on the edge of the open window. All the air whipping around was a bit more than Ella liked, but she wasn’t about to suggest he roll the window up.

“You figure Mavis is the place to start?”

Ella returned her focus to the road in front of her. “She’s been the strongest advocate for saving the church.”

“But that means she’s already on your side. Don’t you need to be working on the naysayers?”

“Maybe. I’m hoping Mavis can give us ammunition.” She liked the sound of “us.”

Mavis must have been watching through the window as they pulled up, because she was on the top step, waving them into the house before they could even get out of the car.

“Get on in here,” she called. “You here about the church?”

“We are,” Ella said. “I’m hoping we’ll vote to keep it.”

They sat in a family room that looked like it was straight from a 1955 issue of Good Housekeeping magazine. The carpet was a vibrant blue, the furniture a mix of Naugahyde and a strange nubby fabric that made Ella feel itchy just looking at it. She perched on a chair that might have been plastic made to look like wood.

“You know how I’ll vote, and I can count on five others who won’t be in favor of selling, plus you. That leaves seven I’m sure want to leave and another ten or so I don’t know about.” She stabbed her cane in Ella’s direction. “And some of them are kin of yourn.” She resettled the cane. “The real problem is that Steve Simmons has been out beating the bushes for members who haven’t been to church in a decade or two but who’ll vote in favor of selling.”

“Don’t they have to be active members?” Ella asked.

Mavis waved a dismissive hand. “That’s probably how it’s supposed to work, but they haven’t purged the rolls in a month of Sundays.”

“Do you know who he’s enlisted?”

Mavis rattled off several names, some Ella knew well and some she didn’t. She jotted them down, nodding her head as she did. “Thanks so much. I’m going to do all I can to keep the church right where it is.”

Mavis grunted. “What’s the feller for?” She poked her cane at Seth.

“He can explain about the hunting preserve to anyone who thinks that’ll be a detriment to staying where we are. It might even be a good thing. Right, Seth?”

Seth looked uneasy, but he nodded his head. “Sure. Could be.”

Mavis got a gleam in her eye. “Ah,” she said. “Well, good luck to ya. I sure hope you change folks’ minds, but I’m not holding my breath.”

They headed back out to the car and climbed in.

“Are you up for this?” Ella asked. “I plan to go change the minds of four of the people she named this very afternoon.”

Seth looked at her for a moment without speaking. His warm eyes seemed to search the very depths of her soul. “This means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” she whispered.

He reached over and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. She tried not to react, but couldn’t keep her eyes from widening or her breath from catching. It was a far different feeling than what she’d experienced the last time Mark touched her.

“All right then. Let’s tilt at some windmills.”

Ella grinned and put the car in gear.