A Place to Call Home (14 page)

The church, like the town, hadn’t changed in the past fifteen years.

Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, painting the floor with swashes of crimson, emerald and gold. While other churches sought to modernize with comfortable chairs and PowerPoint displays, Church of the Pines remained the same.

Quinn hadn’t expected to find comfort in that.

“Quinn?” Abby touched his hand.

With a start, he realized the congregation was rising to their feet to join together in the last verse of the song.

He didn’t know the words but was content to listen to Abby sing them in her clear contralto.

When the song ended and they’d taken their seats again, Matthew Wilde stepped up to the front.

“Good morning, everyone.” His smile swept over the congregation. “Welcome to the Church of the Pines. For those of you who are guests, I’m Pastor Matthew Wilde. And today, we’re going to a place called Gilgal.”

Q
uinn studied the fresh flowers on the piano. The young mother discreetly doling out animal crackers to her children in the next row. Counted the number of candles on the altar.

He even tried to come up with a way to convince Abby to tell Lydia Thomas they couldn’t hold their vow renewal at the inn. But in spite of his best efforts, like the bluegill Cody had hooked and played until it finally gave up, Matt Wilde’s sermon slowly began to reel him in.

“Do you know what was between the wilderness and the Promised Land?” Matt paused. “Well, if a person checked out the Scriptures, they might say it was the Jordan River. And they’d be right.” He smiled. “But I think I’m right, too, when I say it wasn’t only the river, it was faith.

“The Israelites, children of the Promise, had been wandering in the desert for forty years. I don’t know about you, but I’ve done my share of wandering—even after I trusted Christ as my Savior. Like they did, I had a habit of looking back instead of forward. Sound familiar?”

Quinn saw heads begin to nod. Abby’s was one of them.

“Joshua wanted to lead the people to the Promised Land,
but in order to do that, they had to take that first step of believing God and trusting Him. The water didn’t part before they stepped in. It parted
after
their toes touched the water.

“Even though life in the wilderness is barren and difficult, there are times we are tempted to stay there. We start to set up camp like it’s our home.” Matt lifted his hands. “This is it. This is all I can expect from myself. All I can expect from God. But it isn’t our true home. It’s not the place we’re
supposed
to dwell. God wants us to cross over into all that He has for us, not live in defeat, wandering in the wilderness.

“He had an amazing plan for His people. A plan they discovered when they stopped wandering and started trusting. The word
Gilgal
means circle. God gave the people a do-over, in a sense. Brought them full circle. The reason they’d spent forty years in the desert was because they’d disobeyed Him, but He gave them another opportunity to trust Him. He’ll do the same for you. I know, because He did it for me.

“My question for you today is this, are you going to trust Him? Are you going to take that step of faith and believe His promises? You don’t have to stay in the wilderness. God has something special waiting for you, too. Be brave. Take that first step of faith and find out what it is.”

Instead of rising with fire and brimstone intensity, Pastor Wilde’s voice dropped. To Quinn, it had more of an impact than if he’d shouted the words.

“Will you pray with me?”

Quinn automatically bowed his head with everyone else, but his thoughts were scattered in a dozen different directions…and then he felt Abby take hold of his hand.

“You aren’t getting a root canal, you know.” Abby tugged on Quinn’s arm but it was like trying to move a mountain.

Quinn didn’t budge. He noticed the pastor had finished praying.

Abby sighed and closed her eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“Shh. I’m praying for you.”

“For me?” He sounded as if he were choking.

Abby nodded but didn’t open her eyes. “Jesus said if we have faith like a mustard seed, we can move a mountain. Compared to that, moving you to the fellowship hall should be a piece of cake.”

She peeked up at Quinn through her lashes and saw his lips tilt.

“Come on,” he growled. “I suppose if we don’t get in line, the only thing left will be those salads made out of Jell-O and cottage cheese.”

“I always go to the dessert table first,” Abby whispered.

“Lead the way.” Quinn’s smile kicked up another notch and Abby caught her breath.

She saw a few curious looks as they made their way to the buffet table but most of the people smiled. At both her and Quinn. Still, she could feel the tension emanating from him. As if he were expecting a lightning bolt to find him at any moment. Or someone to shoulder their way through the crowd and tell him that he didn’t belong here.

Quinn hadn’t commented on Pastor Wilde’s sermon but she knew it had to have moved him.

Listening to Matthew’s message, Abby had prayed that God would speak to Quinn. Touch his heart. The words the pastor had spoken were like a benediction to the conversation she and Quinn had had the night before.

When Quinn talked about his father, underneath the bitter
ness was regret. And underneath the regret, grief. The emotions layered below the surface like striations in a rock.

It was important to her that Quinn take the step of faith that would set him free from the past…because Quinn was important to her.

Abby swallowed hard as the truth washed over her.

She’d known him less than a week and yet every conversation they’d had, every smile they shared, every moment they spent together acted like invisible threads knitting her heart to his.

She had no idea if he felt the same way. But it had to mean something that Quinn had confided in her about his childhood. Sat with her by the campfire. Brought her to church…

“Can’t decide?” Quinn whispered. “Take one of each. That’s what I’m going to do.”

Abby blinked. If she could stand in front of a table laden with mouthwatering desserts and not see them, she was in worse shape than she thought!

“I’m glad you haven’t left yet, Abby.” Kate rushed up to her. “There’s someone I want you to meet and don’t you dare slink away, Quinn O’Halloran,” she added in the same breath. “Pastor Wilde is looking for you.”

Before Abby knew it, Kate had whisked her away. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Quinn book-ended by Pastor Wilde and a tall, dark-haired man she didn’t recognize.

“You asked me about local artists when you were at the café a few days ago,” Kate said. “I don’t know why I didn’t think about Emma Barlow. You’re practically neighbors. She lives on Stony Ridge Road about a mile away from you.”

“She’s an artist?”

“Emma probably wouldn’t call herself that,” Kate said with a low laugh. “She considers what she does a hobby,
although I disagree. She has a gift. I talked her into selling three of her mosaic garden stones to me last summer and each one is a work of art. They’re absolutely beautiful.”

Abby could already picture a path made up of one-of-a-kind stones winding through the kitchen garden she had designed. “I’d love to meet her.”

“She’s right over there.” Kate pointed to a slender woman sitting at a table in the corner. Her sandy brown hair and delicate features matched those of the boy sitting next to her. Brother and sister? Abby wondered. Emma looked too young to have a child that age.

The woman rose to her feet as they approached.

“Emma, this is Abby Porter. Abby, Emma Barlow and her son, Jeremy.”

“Please, sit down,” Emma said. “Jeremy and I are almost finished.”

“Oh, we don’t want your table,” Kate said cheerfully. “We want you. Abby is opening a bed-and-breakfast on Mirror Lake and she’s interested in buying from local artists.”

Emma gave Kate a look. “I hardly qualify as a local artist,” she protested.

“Don’t be so modest.” Kate pulled out a chair for Abby and plunked down into the one beside it. “I was telling her about the mosaic work you do.”

The color in Emma’s cheeks matched the carnation-pink blouse she wore. “It’s just something I do in my spare time,” she murmured. “To relax.”

“They are good, Mom,” the boy piped up. “Maybe if you start selling some of them, I can get a new bike.”

“Jeremy Barlow!” Emma looked as if she wished the floor would open up and swallow her.

“Sorry.” Jeremy grinned. “But it’s true.”

Abby took pity on her. “I’m sorry about the ambush,” she said. “But I really would like to see some of your work.”

“It’s not…” Emma paused and the indecision in her wide blue eyes collided with Kate’s scowl across the table. “I suppose that would be all right. For you to look at it, I mean.”

Something in Emma’s expression told Abby that even though she was giving in, she didn’t want her to purchase anything out of a sense of obligation.

“Great.” Abby pushed away from the table. Not only because she didn’t want to give Emma an opportunity to change her mind, but because she wanted to check on Quinn.

Maybe it had been her imagination, but she had felt some strange vibes between him and Pastor Wilde in the parking lot. Abby trusted that Matthew wouldn’t say or do anything to make a visitor uncomfortable, but Quinn might not perceive it that way. Judging from what he’d told her the night before, he didn’t think anyone would see him as anything other than the offspring of Mike O’Halloran.

Was it possible that Quinn believed God felt the same way?

“Earth to Abby.” Kate snapped her fingers a few inches from Abby’s nose.

“I’m sorry.” Now it was Abby’s turn to blush. “I was…somewhere else.”

“I’m sure you were,” Kate teased. “And I should probably take you back there, or he’s going to think you’ve been kidnapped.”

Abby managed a wan smile. Knowing it was just an expression didn’t prevent the knot that formed in her stomach.

She reminded herself that she wasn’t wandering aimlessly in the wilderness anymore, tangled in the thorns of painful memories. Like Pastor Wilde, she had taken that step of faith into a land of abundant living that God promised.

“Mom?” Jeremy’s face lit up as he turned toward his mother. “It looks like some of the guys are going to play baseball. Can I go, too?”

Emma shook her head. “We’re going to be leaving soon.”

Instead of arguing, Jeremy slumped lower in the chair and bulldozed a forkful of corn into what was left of his mashed potatoes.

Kate looked as if she were about to say something but changed her mind. An awkward silence descended.

“I’ll call you, Emma,” Abby said. “Is your number in the book?”

Emma averted her gaze. “It’s listed under Joseph Barlow.”

Abby hadn’t missed the shadow that skimmed the surface of the other woman’s eyes. If she wasn’t mistaken, Emma Barlow had spent some time in the wilderness, too.

To her credit, Kate didn’t say a word about Emma as they left to find Quinn. Abby was relieved. Quinn thought the Grapevine Café lived up to its name, but Kate didn’t seem like the type of person who considered gossip an acceptable form of conversation.

“I don’t see Quinn.”

Kate chuckled. “He’s a big boy. I’m sure he’s still with Pastor Wilde.”

Or else, Abby thought, he’d left her stranded at the church potluck.

Her suspicion increased after they took another lap around the fellowship hall. There was no sign of Quinn anywhere. Or Pastor Wilde, for that matter.

“Let’s check outside,” Kate suggested. “We have picnic tables set up in the yard and a lot of people take their food out there when the weather is nice.”

Abby had a hard time not charging ahead of her friend as
they made their way back upstairs and out the double doors into the sunshine. Kate was right. At least half the congregation had gone outside. The older members of the congregation balanced paper plates in their hands while they chatted with friends and the younger ones sprawled on their stomachs in the grassy area off the parking lot.

“See, there he is…Oh, no.”

“What?” Abby’s gaze bounced from the group of boys playing touch football in the grassy field adjacent to the church to a circle of young mothers with babies in their arms and toddlers attached to their skirts like barnacles.

She couldn’t see Quinn anywhere.

“I think you’ve been replaced.”

“Replaced?” Abby frowned.

Kate pointed to a path of asphalt near the corner of the building, where a line of giggling little girls had formed, each waiting to take a turn.

Pastor Wilde held one end of the bright pink jump rope.

Quinn held the other.

Abby watched in fascination as an adorable little girl, with ink-black hair and skin a soft shade of caramel, tugged on the hem of Quinn’s shirt. He continued to turn the rope with one hand and scooped her up with the other, settling her onto his hip.

Kate looped an arm around Abby’s shoulders and gave them a squeeze.

“And you were worried Quinn wouldn’t make friends.”

H
e wasn’t Superman.

Who was he kidding?

He couldn’t even claim to be a real carpenter, although at least Quinn knew one end of the hammer from the other.

Not that his thumb would agree. It was still throbbing in response to being mashed a time or two. Okay, maybe more like a dozen.

It was Abby’s fault he was so distracted. Thoughts of her created a hazardous work environment. Quinn was tempted to call OSHA and turn her in. Maybe that would stop her from carrying out her crazy plan to open the inn early.

On second thought, he doubted it.

Raking a hand through his hair, Quinn stepped back to survey the porch rail.

If he didn’t finish soon, he’d be working in the rain. An ominous bank of clouds had unrolled on the horizon, blocking out the sun and kicking up a breeze that curled the tops of the waves that slapped the shoreline.

As soon as he and Abby had gotten back to the inn, he’d
started working on the next cabin. If she was serious about opening up a week early for the Thomases, he couldn’t afford the luxury of a “rest and refresh” day.

Abby must have come to the same conclusion. She’d disappeared inside the house right after church and he hadn’t seen her the rest of the day.

Quinn was hoping that once she took off her rose-colored glasses and acknowledged the staggering amount of work left to be done, she would admit defeat.

Like you did?

The mocking question rerouted Quinn’s thoughts to the conversation they’d had the night before, where it dovetailed with the sermon Pastor Wilde had delivered that morning.

Like a two-by-four to his thick skull.

No coincidences, Abby said.

Quinn was starting to think that God did have a plan. And a sense of humor.

When Matthew Wilde had suggested they “take a walk and get to know each other,” Quinn braced himself for part two of the interrogation the pastor had started in the parking lot.

Quinn had been a little shocked when the pastor started to talk about himself instead. And he wasn’t sure how, but not only had he gotten roped—literally—into playing with a group of giggling little girls, he had also agreed to meet Matthew for breakfast on Thursday morning. At the Grapevine Café, no less.

He was about to pick up the hammer again when Lady planted herself at his feet and barked, a polite reminder it was time for her supper.

“Got it.” Quinn bent down to ruffle his pet’s silky ears. “Where’s your sidekick?” He looked around for Mulligan. The two dogs had become inseparable during the week.

As if she understood the question, Lady looked toward the house and whined.

Quinn’s eyes narrowed.

It wouldn’t hurt to check on Abby and make sure she wasn’t working too hard. And snag another one of her killer cinnamon rolls at the same time.

If Abby insisted on feeding him like this, he’d have to put in a few more hours of work every day to burn the extra calories off.

Not that there was a lack of work to find.

Lady followed him over to the cabin and Quinn filled her dish, shutting the door quietly behind him before making his way to Abby’s.

Mulligan must have realized his buddy was missing, because when Quinn stepped onto Abby’s porch, the dog’s howl drifted through the open windows.

Usually Abby had praise music blasting while she worked, but other than Mulligan’s mournful song, everything was quiet.

“Abby?” He opened the door and stuck his head inside.

No response.

Frowning, Quinn took a step into the foyer. The tangy odor of lemon cleaner stung his eyes.

Abby definitely hadn’t been lounging around all day with her nose in a book. He could practically see his reflection in the floor.

“Abby? Are you in here?”

Mulligan heard his voice and dashed around the corner, all four paws scrambling for purchase on the glossy hardwood floor. The momentum sent him skidding toward Quinn like a baseball player sliding into home plate.

Quinn caught the dog before he took out a lamp.

The commotion didn’t lure Abby to the great room. Quinn
felt the blood thicken in his veins as he made a sweep of the first floor and then the second.

He took the narrow staircase leading up to the third floor and found his path blocked by a bright green door.

Had she decided to take a nap?

“Abby?” He tapped his knuckles against the wood and turned the knob at the same time. The door swung open.

Quinn had a split second to take in the neat but tiny living quarters—pale green walls, an antique wardrobe and the sleigh bed covered in a simple patchwork quilt—before something else registered.

The bed was empty.

Now what?

There was nowhere else to look. And there was no sign of Abby. Anywhere.

Abby untied the lightweight sweater she’d knotted around her shoulders and pushed her arms through the sleeves to cloak the goose bumps rising on her skin.

The morning had started out hot and muggy, but the temperature had dropped over the past hour as a front moved in, making Abby question her decision to take a walk so close to sunset.

But scrubbing and waxing the floors for the better part of the afternoon had given her plenty of time to formulate ideas on how to decorate the chapel for Lydia and Simon’s vow renewal.

Talking with Lydia on the phone had affirmed she was doing the right thing. Abby had felt an instant rapport with the elderly woman as they discussed the arrangements.

Following the old adage about honesty being the best policy, Abby explained to Lydia that the inn wasn’t officially open for business for several more weeks. When Lydia im
mediately began to apologize, Abby assured her that she felt blessed to be part of the anniversary celebration.

It took a few more minutes to convince Lydia that she and Simon and their guests wouldn’t be an imposition—as long as the couple could overlook some minor imperfections.

Even as she’d said the word, Abby wondered if leaky roofs and rotting floors could be considered imperfections.

Not, she thought as she made her way down the trail, that Lydia would even notice. When she realized Abby was offering to open the inn early, the woman’s voice had thickened as she assured her that being able to renew their vows at the chapel was all the “perfect” she needed.

Abby couldn’t wait to meet the couple. And she couldn’t wait to tell Quinn what Lydia had said.

Guilt shot through her as Quinn came to mind.

She hadn’t seen him all day. Here she’d spouted off about setting aside Sunday to “rest and refresh” and then she’d spent every minute of it up to her elbows in lemon polish.

He must have known she wouldn’t change her mind because shortly after he’d dropped her off at the house, the tap of the hammer punctuated the air. As far as she knew, he hadn’t even stopped for a break.

Not that Abby had, either.

As if on cue, her stomach rumbled. Ignoring it, Abby veered off the trail and followed the worn footpath that led to the chapel just as fat droplets of rain began to fall.

The eerie stillness that had settled in the air was disrupted by a pair of crows, who sounded the alarm as she approached the stone building. Their cry was taken up by a red squirrel who shimmied up the nearest oak, perching there to act as sentry.

Abby slipped inside and let her eyes adjust to the gloom.
She was used to stopping at the chapel on her daily walk, when sunlight flooded the one-room sanctuary. Now, shadows stretched across the floor and up the walls.

A low rumble of thunder broke the silence and Abby’s stomach pitched. She looked up at the ceiling.

“Lord, help me not to be afraid,” she murmured. “I know You’re here with me.”

Instead of giving her courage, the hollow echo of her voice sent another shiver gliding through her.

Determinedly, Abby took a walk around the interior, fixing her gaze on the stained glass windows rather than the dark corners.

As she paused to run the tip of her index finger around the dusty sill, a jagged spear of lightning ripped through the clouds, opening a seam in the sky for the rain to pour through.

Abby backed away from the window. Stranded. At least until it let up a bit.

The chapel didn’t have electricity and she wished she would have brought a flashlight along. Not that she’d planned on having the last hour of daylight snatched away by the bank of dark clouds that had unrolled across the sky.

The wind picked up in intensity and pushed against the door, like someone trying to shoulder their way inside. Abby’s mouth went dry and she tore her gaze away from it.

“Twenty guests.” She said the words out loud, trying to find some comfort in the sound of her own voice. The people would be almost shoulder to shoulder in the pews, a comfortable but cozy fit.

In her mind’s eye, she could see the sides of the wooden pews decorated with fresh flowers, ivy and ribbons; candles on pedestal stands lining the front of the chapel.

Abby’s gaze shifted from the pews to the narrow door
behind the altar that opened into a small storage room. When she’d first discovered it, she’d found stacks of old programs and a box of props that must have been used for skits the campers put on during the summer.

She blinked in the gloom.

It looked as if the door were open a crack.

Don’t be silly,
Abby scolded herself, taking a tentative step back.
It’s your imagination. The way the shadows are falling makes it look like it’s open….

The inside of her mouth turned to chalk.

It
was
open.

Abby backpedaled a few more steps, her eyes riveted on the door to the storage room.

She had two choices. Head back to the house in a thunderstorm or open the door and prove to herself there was nothing on the other side.

“Don’t hold on to your fear. Hold on to God.”

Jessica’s words cut through the storm going on inside her.

Her feet felt like waterlogged sponges as she put one foot in front of the other. The shadows had swallowed most of the natural light and the door wavered as Abby reached out a hand.

It swung open at the barest touch of her fingers and she took a tentative step inside. Her gaze swept the interior of the room and she released a ragged breath.

Empty.

Relief poured through Abby and she sagged to her knees, laughing weakly. In the past, something like this would have either paralyzed her or sent her running. This time, she’d faced it.

And she knew why.

Thank You, God.

Quinn was halfway up the trail when the beam from the flashlight flickered and died.

Not that he needed it. The constant flashes of lightning were doing a pretty good job of illuminating the way.

He stopped and worked the button a few times, just to be sure. Nothing. The temptation to turn around was strong.

If Abby had gone to the chapel, a distinct possibility since he’d found her car parked in the garage, then she was waiting out the storm there. Nice and dry.

Unlike him.

If he showed up there, soaked to the skin, she was going to think he was crazy.

And she’d be right.

A shard of lightning, too close for comfort, nicked the top of one of the pines near the lake. The ground hummed under his feet.

That did it.

Even if Abby was warm and dry, there was no way he was leaving her alone up there.

He’d barely taken another step when something hurtled against him.

Quinn staggered under the impact and his feet shot out from under him as if someone had greased the trail. He fell, taking Abby with him.

As he looked up into her eyes, something about the scenario seemed strangely familiar.

“What did I do this time?” he groaned.

“What are you doing out here?” Abby scolded, raising her voice above the shriek of the wind. “It’s dangerous to be under the trees in a storm.”

As if to emphasize her words, another cymbal crash sounded in the treetops.

Quinn surged to his feet and brought her with him. “Let’s get back to the house before we get turned into human shish kebabs.”

He kept one arm around Abby while they slipped and slid their way down the trail, locked together like a pair of amateur figure skaters until they reached the safety of the lodge.

They stumbled into the kitchen and Abby sagged against the counter, her shoulders shaking as a small lake formed at her feet.

Was she hurt? Scared?

She pushed the wet hair off her face and lifted her head.

“You’re smiling again.” Quinn stared at her in disbelief.

“Am I?” Abby swiped a soggy sleeve against her face and giggled. “That didn’t help.”

He’d just had another ten years stripped off his life and she was acting like a baby duck who’d found a warm puddle to splash around in!

“What on earth possessed you to go for a walk in a storm?” Quinn said, a little amazed he was able to talk with his back teeth clamped together.

“I had some things to do at the chapel.” Abby’s teeth began to chatter but she grabbed a teapot off the stove and began to fill it with water. “Do you want some t-tea?”

The perfect hostess.

Quinn felt the anger drain out of him. In two strides he was by her side. Plucked the teapot from her bluish hands.

“I want you to change into dry clothes and curl up with a fuzzy blanket and read the chapter in
Survive and Thrive in the Woods
about thunderstorms,” he said softly.

Abby wasn’t intimidated by his scowl. If anything, her smile brightened. “And then I’ll pass it on to you. I wasn’t the only one out in that storm, you know. What’s your excuse?”

“I went to find you,” he admitted with a growl. “Because I knew you’d skip that chapter.”

A droplet of water burst and ran down her cheek. Quinn stopped it with the pad of his thumb. Of their own accord, the rest of his fingers splayed over the delicate curve of her jaw.

Leave. Now.

Quinn’s brain sent out an urgent SOS to his heart. He would have enough memories to keep him awake at night without adding another one. What it would feel like to kiss Abby.