Cedar Creek Seasons (18 page)

“Want to take a walk?” He longed to kiss her on the covered bridge, as his parents had, years before. Plus, he really needed to stretch his legs.

She nodded. They exited the SUV and wandered hand in hand around the bare, sodden park.

“It’s not pretty, as it will be in only a few weeks, but can’t you feel all the green things just aching to shoot out of the ground?”

“Yes. Yes, I can.”

Her eyes widened, and he wanted to kiss her before they made it to the bridge. But he wanted to make a point, too. “The park doesn’t look like much now, but things are happening underground here. Things we can’t see. Just like in the cantata.” Finally, he could tell her about the lambs, Chandler’s questions, and the children’s reaction.

“Thanks. I needed that.”

What a smile! He almost pulled his phone out to take a picture.

But it faded. “I’m sorry I get OC about cantata details—”

“And I’m
really
sorry I didn’t tell you about the lambs earlier.”

“I forgive you.” Chesca’s finger touched his lips. “But no more big surprises. Please?”

“No more surprises.” He touched hers. “Want to cross the covered bridge with me? It’s the only one left in Wisconsin, you know.”

“I’d love to.”

How could a day that began so badly turn out so well? The sun lost its shyness, and a bubbling Cedar Creek laughed to see their happiness. As far as he was concerned, May had arrived. “My parents walked here when they were dating. They’d like you to come for dinner.”

“I’d love to.” Her eyes sparkled. Then she hesitated. “Maybe after Easter? I’ll be a basket case up to and including Easter Sunday.”

“No problem.” They’d reached the bridge. Its weathered sides, heavy lattice construction, and thick wooden floor always gave him a solid, cross-generation-y feeling, even when he was a little guy, running races with himself from end to end. His parents’ dating stories grossed him out then. But now … Sunbeams reluctant to release her hair followed them into the dusky interior. He cupped her yielding face in his hands and kissed her as if it would be the only kiss they’d ever share.

Later, he realized his and Taryn’s initials were carved near his parents’, not far from where they stood. He’d grown up a bit since he carved those. He wouldn’t break the law by adding new initials.

But bridge or no bridge, Chesca’s name was the one imprinted on his heart. He’d make sure she knew that.

O
ne perfect yellow crocus. One perfect purple one. Chesca knelt on Mrs. Metzger’s front steps to enjoy the brave, delicate petals. She inhaled the spring colors like oxygen. Such a contrast, the two hues, yet perfect together—like Seth and her. She grinned. Everything good reminded her of Seth. Yet two months before, she’d groused and growled her way to a meeting with Pastor Hoke and some unknown drama director who wanted to wreck her Easter cantata.

Chuckling, she rose, deciding to celebrate the sunshine—and the good practices the past week—by walking to the final dress rehearsal.

Since the beginning, she and Seth had reviewed videos of their sessions, brainstorming solutions to help their cast. She agreed with him: the choir sounded wonderful, but their faces looked stiff as those on totem poles. He agreed: none of the male drama members knew how to sit while wearing robes. She had to giggle at Matt’s struggles when Stupid, lately cooperative, suddenly parked on his haunches in front of the altar rail. And both she and Seth nearly fell off the sofa laughing when Jesus, amid the tussle with soldiers in Gethsemane, lost his wig.

How could she worry herself sick and laugh herself silly at the same time?

“Relax,” Seth told her. “We’ll do our best, pray, and trust God will get His message across.”

She’d prayed for other programs. There were no atheists on choir director podiums! But praying with Seth helped her better understand that this production wasn’t about them. It was about worshipping God. It was about the needs of their audience and their cast. Now, walking down Washington Avenue, she mused that she’d learned to pray for that scamp Zoe and even for Taryn. Poor girl. She thought she still owned Seth, Christ the King Church, the universe.

Striding past just-budding forsythia bushes, Chesca paused before inserting her key into the church’s front doors.
Please, God, give me special patience today
. She asked Him to bless this last rehearsal and to prepare the hearts of those who would experience the cantata the next day.

To her surprise, the door was already unlocked. Seth must have arrived extra early. Her heart danced a springtime jig. Maybe they could steal a few moments together before the gang arrived.

The fragrance of coffee greeted her from the open door of the stairs to the fellowship hall—a sure sign Seth was near, probably in the kitchen, where he sometimes reviewed the drama before practice. She edged downstairs, mischief brewing in her mind. He almost scared her into spasms outside Amy’s Candy Kitchen before he gave her that apple. This appeared
the
opportunity for payback. Grinning, she crept toward the open kitchen door, determined to surprise him.

She did.

But a bigger surprise awaited her.

Seth and Taryn. Velcroed together, their lips compressed in a passionate kiss.

Chesca’s playful words strangled in her throat and died.

Seth pulled away from his “ex,” his eyes round and blank as blue marbles.

“Well, excuse you.” Taryn, pushing a lock of golden hair behind her ear, smiled at Chesca.

Chesca turned and fled up the stairs, Seth’s heavy steps behind her. “Chesca!”

A contingent of young actors met them halfway.

“Mr. Amundsen! Stupid’s in the library!”

She slipped past them and ran the opposite direction, arrows of Taryn’s amusement still lodged in her back, her heart.

“Chesca, the sleet The Weather Channel expected is much worse than predicted.” It couldn’t be as bad as the storm inside him, but Seth saw from the set of her chin that he’d better stick to the we’re-only-codirectors script they adopted during rehearsals. “We’ll have to cut practice short—and hope we won’t have to cancel the performance tomorrow.”

She nodded. Before he could say more, she did a soldierly about-face and marched back down the sanctuary aisle to her podium.

How he wished he could rewind and edit this day. Somehow, some way, he’d corner her before she escaped. They had to talk.

“What’s going on, Seth?” Jesus, scratching his chin, had removed his beard. “Problem with the weather?”

“Ice storm. We’ll have to cancel the rest of the practice.”

“Guess we’ve got some praying to do.” Jesus gave Seth his usual cheerful smile.

Did they ever. “Good idea. Help me gather the gang together. We’ll pray before we leave.”

He longed to include Chesca and the choir, but as she reviewed tomorrow’s schedule with them, her rigid shoulders told him to back off. His group held hands in a circle in the foyer while Jesus prayed. Seth flicked one eye open. The children’s heads were bowed, their faces reverent. A miracle. Good. He needed miracles right now.

With the “amen,” the kids pulled out cell phones to call for rides. The rest of the cast scattered to restrooms to change from their costumes. All except Matt.

“You’re not going to try to take the animals to the farm, are you?” Matt gestured toward the glass back doors, where icy Armageddon raged outside.

“No. I don’t trust that trailer out on the roads.” He couldn’t leave the donkey and lambs in the pen, though, either. A rare headache struck his forehead like a continuous gong.

“I’ll call my uncle Fred.” Matt yanked his burlap robe up to fish in his jeans pocket for his cell. “He has a barn but lives just on the edge of town. He’ll keep the animals.”

“Thanks.” Seth knocked knuckles with his friend. “I appreciate it. Just give me directions—”

“I’ll take care of it. You’ve got enough to think about.”

Did he ever. “Let’s just hope this comes off tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Matt’s voice softened to a seriousness Seth had never heard in it before. “My mom and dad, Uncle Fred and Aunt Celia—man, my whole family is coming to see me in this thing.”

Matt turned on his heel, pulling his robe off as he headed for the animal pens.

Seth spotted wadded costumes and tattered palms on the hall carpet. The ice storm had preempted their cleanup routine. He’d pick up and set up. But first … he cracked a sanctuary door, expecting Chesca to have left the state. Instead, she stood on her podium, her head bowed as choir members prayed aloud. At the sight, his chest felt too small to hold his heart.

Then Taryn, eyes wide open in the third row, winked at him.

He felt like covering his face, but Zoe popped up under his nose like a computer ad. “Well, are you going to take me home?”

“Home?” He let the door bang shut. His frazzled brain refused to function.

“You gave me a ride today. Remember?”

Slow as sick software, his mind finally recalled. He’d assured Zoe’s mother and stepfather, who went to Milwaukee for a funeral, that the rehearsal would last all day and he could bring her home, too. But Zoe lived in a mansion near Lake Michigan, even farther out of town than the animals. No way could he drive her there. Besides, would her parents make it back home today?

He knew better than to ask her about her absent father. “Zoe, do you have a grandma or aunt here in town?”

“No. All my relatives live in Minnesota. They don’t like me.” She said this with an air of accomplishment.

He liked her—but right now, he’d rather not deal with her. “Do your folks have friends in Cedarburg?”

“No, mostly out by the lake.” Her face fell. “Why are you asking me all these questions? Don’t you want to take me home?”

“No—I mean, yes—I mean, I’d be glad to. But the police want people off the roads because of the ice storm. So driving you home isn’t an option. Besides, your parents may not make it back to Cedarburg.”

“I can take care of myself.”

No doubt she could, but—“We need to call them.”

Zoe grudgingly pulled out a lime-green iPhone. “Hi, Mom. Yeah, the ice is bad here, too. Mr. Amundsen wants to talk to you.”

Zoe’s mother sounded as sweetly helpless as Zoe was abrupt. No, they couldn’t make it home. Was there a lady or family in the church who would let their little girl stay the night?

He found himself agreeing to work it out. What else could he do?

“Thank you! May I talk to Zoe again?”

Handing the phone to her, he edged to the sanctuary doors, watching as a few remaining choir members held Chesca hostage in the choir loft. Still, he heard the ensuing “Why can’t I stay with Mr. Amundsen?” argument and the “No
way
!” that ended the conversation. Zoe stomped back to him, glaring as if he had ordered the storm.

“I’m really sorry, Zoe. But we need to find you a place to stay.”

“Mom says I have to stay with a family. Or a lady.” Zoe said the word as an epithet. “I don’t know anybody here—not enough to stay all night.”

This morning, he’d thought the day couldn’t get worse. In his misery, he forgot to keep his prayer to himself. “If you think this is funny, God, I’m not laughing.”

“Huh?” Her eyes penetrated him like an airport scanner.

“Nothing.” He took her hand. Her face lit up. “Zoe, we need to talk to Miss Chesca.”

“You want me to stay with her?” She threw his hand away.

“Can you think of anyone else?”

A long silence. “She won’t want me.”

He wasn’t going to fib and tell her that wasn’t true. “We haven’t asked yet, have we?”

Zoe ducked her chin, glowering at him. But she didn’t fight him when he led her to Chesca, who was wearily packing music into her briefcase.

“Chesca.”

She turned. He could have sworn two-foot flames shot from her eyes. At the sight of the child beside him, however, she doused them into dark nothingness. “Yes?”

He may as well spit it out. “Zoe’s parents are stuck in Milwaukee because of the storm, and she needs to stay here in town. Could she crash at your place?”

For a moment Chesca said nothing as the muscles in her jaw worked. Zoe’s pointy little nails dug into his hand like an angry kitten’s.

“All right.” Chesca zipped her briefcase.

Her bland tone didn’t fool him. It said,
If you had any microscopic chance with me, Seth Amundsen, this blew it
.

“Thanks.” He forced a smile. “Did you walk today?”

“We’ll ride home with Doris. She’s checking on the bulletins for tomorrow.” Chesca gestured toward the doors. With a glare at Seth, Zoe dropped his hand and followed. The girl and the woman, noses in the air, stalked down the aisle.

“I–I’ll call you.”

Chesca shot him a final furious glance and banged the door shut.

Taryn emerged from the side, wearing a small, jubilant smile.

T
his is really little.” Zoe glanced around Chesca’s apartment.

So sorry it doesn’t suit you
. She fought the temptation to deliver her uninvited guest to Seth’s, even if her ancient Ford had to skate there.

Aloud she said, “Yes, it’s small.”