A Touch of Grace (16 page)

As a man, Ian wanted her to stop. As a minister, he knew she needed to purge all the hurt and guilt.

“In whatever way you could.”

“Yes.” A slight blush tinged her cheeks. “Our bodies are the temple of the Holy Spirit, according to scripture.
And according to Brother Gordon and the elders, that meant we should use them for the kingdom. This would bring glory to God as well as to us.”

“That’s a very messed-up interpretation.” He didn’t want to know if she’d succumbed to this evil deception.

“A lot of people believed it. Still do. But it didn’t seem right to me. I prayed and prayed. Finally, I told Mother and Dad. They didn’t believe me. Brother Gordon was a holy prophet of God who could do no wrong and I was nothing but an evil-minded, sinful girl.”

“What happened?”

“I ran away.” A tiny smile broke the strain around her mouth. “Surprised?”

“Not when I put it in perspective. You have a certain empathy with the street kids that most don’t have.”

“I understand what they’re going through. The streets are hard. After a week of being hungry and alone, I went back to the commune.” She breathed a self-deprecating huff. “That was a mistake.”

“What about Maddy?”

“She didn’t run. Maddy was more easily swayed than her stubborn older sister. I never asked her, but I always wondered if…” Her voice trailed away. She bit down on her lip and left the thought unspoken.

“If the drugs were a way to escape what had happened?”

“Yes.”

Now he understood all the pointed questions she’d asked him about Isaiah House. She’d been afraid Maddy had fallen into another cult.

“How did you get out?”

“The next time I ran, I convinced Maddy to run with me. Mom and Dad finally woke up after that, though I still think they blame us.”

“Why would they blame you?”

“We left the faith. We shattered their utopian dream of the perfect spiritual society. After that our relationship was never the same.”

“Maybe they felt guilty for getting you involved in the first place.”

“I never considered that.” She shook her head. Tears glistened in the corner of her eyes. “They didn’t even come to her funeral, Ian. Their own daughter.”

Ian ached for her. For her lost innocence. For the loss of her sister. And her parents.

“Christians make mistakes, Gretchen. But most of us sincerely want to follow the precepts of Jesus.”

Eyes downcast, she fiddled with the fingers of his left hand.

He slowly made a fist, trapping her fidgety fingers in his. “You don’t believe me do you?”

“I guess I don’t believe anything anymore.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t still be searching.”

She looked up, expression yearning. “Am I?”

“Why else would you be so interested in religious groups?”

“I don’t want others to be fooled like we were.”

“And maybe, just maybe, you’re still searching for the answers you couldn’t find in the commune.”

A new hope glistened through unshed tears. “I suppose you’re going to tell me you know the way.”

Ian felt trapped. After all she’d experienced in the
cult, even the real truth would be suspect. He couldn’t stop the humorless laugh. “Would I sound cultish if I said yes?”

“’Fraid so, Reverend.”

He knew better than to go quoting scripture to her, but his brain ran with a dozen that were appropriate. Jesus
was
the truth. The truth that could only be received by faith. God wasn’t a hard taskmaster. He was loving and personal.

“All right. I won’t tell you. I’ll ask you to find out for yourself.”

“I’ve been trying to do that for years.”

“Maybe you’re looking in all the wrong places.”

“Excuse me? Where else, other than churches, should I look?”

“Ministries may
know
the truth, but they
aren’t
the truth, if that makes sense.”

She rotated one hand back and forth. “Sort of.”

“Ministries are run by people. People fail sometimes. God never does.” When she started to say something, Ian rushed on, pulse thumping with the crazy hope that he was getting somewhere. “Don’t take my word or anyone else’s word for who God is and what He expects of you. Read the Bible for yourself. Study it. God is in there. He will reveal Himself to you. He wants you to know Him. And if you know Him, you know the truth.”

“I wouldn’t have a clue where to begin.”

“A suggestion then. Start with the Gospels, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. Get acquainted with Jesus.”

“I guess I can do that.”

To Ian, the agreement was a huge step toward vic
tory, and for Gretchen toward ultimate freedom from her spiritual abuse.

“I’m glad you told me.”

“You don’t think I’m awful?”

“I’m pretty ticked at the Family of Love, but not at you. You’re amazing.”

She made a funny face. “Which shows how distorted your thinking is.”

“Don’t do that, Gretchen. You
are
amazing. You not only had the strength to leave the only life you knew, you made a new life. Without anyone’s help, you became a successful newswoman.”

She touched his cheek. “Thanks for saying that. And for listening. I do feel better in an exhausted sort of way.”

“You never told anyone before?”

“Too embarrassed.” She took her purse from the floor-board and scooted toward the door. “It’s late. I’d better go inside.”

Reluctant to part, Ian hopped out of the van and escorted Gretchen to her apartment.

“Want to come in?” she offered, one hand on the doorknob.

Yes.

“Better not.” He wanted to take her into his arms, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. “Come by tomorrow? Lunch maybe?”

“Okay.” She cupped his cheek again, and any thoughts of not touching her flew out into the night. He took her face into his hands and stared long and hard into the greenest eyes on the planet. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind. But when he feared he might lose the
battle and kiss her regardless of his vow not to, she spared him. On tiptoe, she kissed his cheek and stepped back. Ian’s hands fell useless through the soft night air to his sides.

“’Night, Ian,” she whispered.’

Then she went inside, leaving him standing on the step, both thankful and sorry.

The drive back to the mission gave him plenty of time to think and pray. Tonight, he’d come to understand Gretchen’s bitterness and her confusion. He’d also discovered something else. He was falling in love with her.

“Well, Lord, what do you expect me to do now?”

He’d said no to self once before in the situation with Tamma. He didn’t know if he could do that this time.

At Isaiah House, he let himself quietly inside and trudged up the stairs to his room. The house was eerily quiet, all the residents long since in bed according to curfew.

Inside his quarters, which consisted of a bedroom and bath, he sat down on the bed and toed off his Adidas.

A grown man really needed a place of his own to live.

The light on his answering machine blinked red. He sighed and rubbed a tired hand over the back of his neck. Probably some mom who couldn’t find her kid. Or maybe one of the many kids who had his number. If so, he’d have to put his shoes back on and hit the streets.

The temptation to ignore the message in exchange for a few hours’ sleep was strong.

The sense of responsibility was stronger. He remem
bered Maddy and wished for the hundredth time that she had called him that final night.

Some things couldn’t wait until morning.

He pushed Play.

“Ian, this is Tabitha.” The day counselor. Must have been a problem today with one of the residents. Listening, he went into the bathroom for his toothbrush. “I meant to leave a note for you, but Emily had a panic attack and I completely forgot. Some man called this afternoon. He said the strangest thing. I didn’t think I should wait until tomorrow to tell you.”

Something in her tone caught his attention. Ian stepped out of the bathroom to listen more closely.

“He said he thought he might be your brother.”

She rattled on about Ian being an only child so the man must have called the wrong number. Ian sank down on the bed and stared at the phone, stomach tight and churning. A bizarre kind of déjà vu swept over him.

His brother? He didn’t have a brother.

He shook off the unease and prepared for bed.

Tabitha was right. A wrong number, plain and simple.

But that night, the old childhood nightmare returned in full force. He dreamed of three little boys. One was a scrawny version of himself. They were alone in a dark place, hungry and cold. And in the midst of the nightmare was an older boy who held him when he cried.

Chapter Twelve

I
an was normally a morning person, but not this morning. He awakened disgruntled…and uneasy. Vivid images of last night’s dream replayed behind his sleep-puffed eyes.

Stress triggered the dreams. He’d figured that much out long ago. But why this dream? Why three little boys, hungry and alone? Why the terrible aura of impending doom, of some fear he couldn’t name even in the light of day?

During chapel the gloom began to lift and by the time he’d conducted Bible study and headed up to his office, he’d managed to shake off the aftereffects and concentrate on the day ahead.

Chrissy had finally agreed to let social services in on her dangerous home situation, a decision that took some of the pressure off him. Two of the boys who had been at Isaiah House the longest were moving out on their own today. Several new volunteers were coming in for the first time. He had plenty to keep his mind occupied.

In his tiny office Ian rummaged in the minifridge, found an icy Mountain Dew and popped the top. A long, bracing swallow of carbonated caffeine jolted him to work.

He made a few last-minute notes in Chrissy’s file before phoning his contact in social services. The woman, compassionate as always, knew exactly what to do from here. Chrissy would be in good hands, a fact he’d been trying to drive home for months now. Most teens moved on within sixty to ninety days. Chrissy had been here far longer, fear of her abusive father paralyzing her.

He’d no more than replaced the receiver when the phone rang, lighting up his extension.

“Isaiah House,” he answered.

“Is this Ian Carpenter?” a male voice asked.

“Yes. May I help you?” He flipped the file closed and rocked back in his roller chair, glad to have Chrissy’s situation resolved.

“My name is Collin Grace. Does that mean anything to you?”

Collin Grace?
Ian frowned. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. “Should it?”

Slowly, he brought his chair back to an upright position, nerves alert in a way that made no sense. He received phone calls all the time. Why did the name Collin Grace evoke an eerie sensation?

“I hope so.” Tension was as evident in the other man’s voice as in his. After a heavy pause and an exhaled breath, the caller said, “You see, when I was a kid I had a brother, two in fact. One was named Ian.”

Flashes of last night’s dream kaleidoscoped through Ian’s head. He blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the sudden disturbing burst of pictures.

“Why would that have anything to do with me?”

“Because I think you’re my brother.”

The quietly spoken words were like a scream inside Ian’s head. This guy was either nuts or badly mistaken. He didn’t have any brothers.

“Sorry, that’s not possible.” He started to hang up but something in the man’s voice stopped him.

“Are you sure? My brothers and I were separated by foster care. Ian was only four. We have reason to believe he was adopted and moved from Oklahoma to Louisiana.”

Ian’s pulse rate started to kick up. Visions from the dream came at him with the speed of a black light until he grew dizzy.

Wouldn’t he remember if he had a brother somewhere? Wouldn’t he know if he’d been adopted?

But he couldn’t shake the fact that something about the caller’s information rang true.

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

Sweat popped out on his forehead. Fear, like a tidal wave, rolled over him. He had to get off the phone.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Grace, but you’ve got the wrong man. I’m an only child.”

With an uncharacteristic abruptness, he slammed the phone down. His hand shook against the receiver.

Thrusting his face in his hands, he tried to make sense of what had just happened. One thing for certain, he was rattled. And the question was why?

He had no memory of a brother or of any other life outside of Louisiana.

“Collin Grace.” He said the name aloud. And as soon as he did, something inside him snapped. He heard—no, he
felt
—a small boy screaming, “Collin, Collin!”

“Collin,” he whispered.

As if his heart would rip right out of his chest, he felt the anguish of the dirty little boy being dragged from a room, calling that name over and over again.

Not just any little boy. A four-year-old version of himself.

“Oh, God, please help me. What’s happening here?”

This couldn’t be possible. It couldn’t be. He was the beloved only child of Robert and Margot Carpenter. His parents would have told him if he was adopted. And since they didn’t, he couldn’t be.

Could he?

The day he and Gretchen visited Baton Rouge came back in a flood. She’d asked about his baby book, and he didn’t recall ever seeing one. Or even a single photo of his infancy. His mother plastered the house with a thousand pictures of him, but none as a baby.

He’d never thought that strange until now.

His mother’s careful wording came back to him then. She always said, “We waited so long to get you,” or “When we got you, we were the happiest couple in the world.” She’d never said, “When you were born.”

Other clues, inconsequential until now, began to surface.

The fears that they would abandon him, the dream, the key chain.

At the last thought, he frowned.
The key chain?
What did that have to do with anything?

Hand trembling, he took the tiny fish from his pocket, laid it on the desk and stared at the dull pewter for the longest time.