Colorado Dawn (50 page)

Willow kept her head lowered, hoping to slip into the church without being recognized. She stifled a yawn, wishing she could’ve skipped the reception last night. Falling into bed exhausted at three in the morning was no way to prepare for Sunday worship.

Organ music filled the room, and great blocks of colorful light fell across the congregation from the beautiful windows.

Willow found a seat near the back and placed her Bible in her lap. Worshipping with other believers after such a long absence felt like a favorite shawl wrapping around her.
I’m sorry I’ve neglected coming to church for so long, Lord. Please forgive me
.

She raised her head just a bit and watched her fellow worshippers from under the edge of her swooping hat brim. Silas must be here somewhere. He’d mentioned church on more than one occasion. She studied the backs of the men in front of her and took surreptitious peeks at those on either side. The place was full. Perhaps he was up near the front. She spied the Mackenzie family, Silas’s friends who had brought him to the theater. Perhaps he was sitting with them. Craning her neck slightly, she tried to see, but too many people blocked her way. Short of standing up and making a fool of herself, she had little hope of finding him. She’d have to wait for the service to conclude.

Focus on worship. That’s why you’re here, not to gawk after Silas
.

A side door on the platform opened, and a tall man slipped in. Willow’s breath caught in her throat. Though he had his back turned to her to shut the door, she knew in an instant it was Silas. He must be a deacon or something. Perhaps he was reading scripture before the pastor took the pulpit. Pleasure that he would be such an active member of the church warmed her insides. No wonder he was curious as to her church background.

“Please rise and open your hymnals to song fifty-four.” His deep voice filled the room. He seemed so comfortable up front; he must help out with the services often. She could hardly wait to hear his singing voice, remembering how rich and mellow it was.

Fabric swished and pages rustled as the congregation found the right song. And when Silas began to sing, Willow wasn’t disappointed. His voice reached her over everyone else’s, and she wanted to close her eyes and savor the sound. Guilt at her distraction flew in on swift wings, and she found her place in the hymnal.

After the singing Silas invited them to join him in prayer. He spoke from the heart, his words sincere as he asked God’s blessing on the congregation and their time of worship and on the reading of God’s Word.

“Today, I’d like to begin a series of sermons on living a godly life. I’d like to open the Word with you and see what God has to say about our hearts and how they affect our actions. The text for today comes from Romans, chapter seven.”

Realization swept over Willow, bringing numbness. Silas wasn’t just helping with the service. He was the preacher. Her mind hop-skipped, trying to sort the ramifications of his occupation. Though she hadn’t pegged him as a preacher, it certainly fit with his demeanor, the caring look in his eyes. But did it fit with the thoughts she’d had about him, the stirrings of romantic notions that had colored her world since she first met him?

Onionskin pages whispered, and Silas paused so everyone could find the passage. He read the chapter with conviction and feeling, and Willow’s skin tingled. Such authority in his voice, such power.

“Isn’t this just like us? Don’t we often suffer the same affliction as the apostle Paul?” Silas scanned the crowd. “The good deeds we want to do we don’t do, and the bad deeds we don’t want to do are exactly what we find ourselves doing.”

Drawn in by the power of his sermon, she forgot where she was, focusing on the truths revealed, immersing herself in once again sharing the fellowship of a church. His description of the struggle against sin mesmerized her. She tucked her lower lip in and pondered his words.

“We forget that as believers we are dead to sin, that sin no longer has the power to control us. We don’t
have
to sin, even though we often behave as if we do.”

The sermon ended all too quickly for Willow. Why hadn’t she seen it before? The power and conviction behind Silas’s preaching showed he was born to this calling. He couldn’t be anything but a preacher. She was so proud of him that she wanted to stand and applaud.

As everyone rose for the closing hymn, his eyes locked with hers. That familiar and yet strange sensation of being deeply connected to one another made her skin tingle. She responded to his broad smile with one of her own, suddenly eager for the service to be over so she could tell him how wonderful his preaching was.

And yet, when the service ended, Willow hung back, trying to remain inconspicuous until the majority of the parishioners had greeted Silas and exited the church. Several people nodded and said hello to her. The Mackenzies greeted her on their way out. Silas glanced at her several times, smiling, asking her with his eyes to wait.

At last the crowd thinned to an expectant group of boys near the door. Silas came toward her, hands outstretched. “You came.”

She returned the pressure of his fingers, unable to quell the joy bubbling through her. “It was a wonderful service.”

“Are we going to go now?” The plaintive cry came from a small, tow-headed boy with rosy cheeks and pale blue eyes. “You said we could go right after church.”

“Just a minute, Tick.” Silas turned back to Willow.

“You have to go?” She tried to hide her disappointment and feared she failed.

His hands tightened on hers. “The boys and I are having a picnic and doing some fishing this afternoon. It’s a reward for all their hard work in Sunday school. Every last one of them has memorized three different Psalms and the Ten Commandments this winter.” He didn’t sound as enthused as the boys, and she hoped it was because he didn’t want to leave her any more than she wanted him to go.

But duty called, and he must answer. She nodded. “Sounds like fun. I hope you all have a good time.”

“Say, why don’t you come with us? The theater is closed on Sundays, isn’t it? You can spend the afternoon with me and the boys and show off your newfound rock-skipping skills.”

She glanced at the children. The younger ones didn’t seem to mind, but the oldest one—tall, thin, and with a hank of black hair hanging over his forehead—rolled his eyes, shoved his hands in his pockets, and sighed.

“Phin, do you have any objections?” Silas asked the boy.

For a moment he looked as if he wanted to protest, but in the end he shrugged as if he didn’t care one way or the other and herded the rest of the boys out the door.

She tucked her hand into Silas’s offered arm. “I’d be delighted.”

S
ilas’s blood hummed in his veins, and he knew he was wearing that ridiculous grin again, but he couldn’t seem to help it and, truth be told, didn’t really want to. Sunshine bathed the world in a yellow glow, and at the center of that world was Willow. The speed with which she’d captured his heart still amazed him, and yet it seemed inevitable, too.

The boys scampered ahead, their high voices piping skyward through the trees. Phin carried fishing poles, while Tick carried the bait bucket. The other three boys, the Hebig brothers, tussled, threw sticks and rocks, and chased one another like puppies.

“Estelle packed enough food for an army.” Silas lifted the basket he carried in his left hand. Willow held his right arm, and he could feel every one of her fingers through his shirtsleeve, though she touched him lightly.

She clasped the picnic blanket to her middle. “Thank you for inviting me. I’ve never been on a picnic before.”

“Never?”

“No. Theater life means a lot of moving and schedules and performance halls, not sunshine and fresh air and blue skies.”

The wistfulness in her voice caught at Silas. “Then I’m glad you get to experience your first picnic with me. I’m an expert.”

“Really? How did you become an expert?”

“I grew up in Sandusky, Ohio, on the shores of Lake Erie. My mother loved to go down to the shore and picnic, and we went dozens of times each summer.”

She tilted her head as if trying to picture him as a boy, scampering along the shoreline with wind-tousled hair and rolled-up pants.

He could almost smell the lake and hear the scrape and shush of the water as it rolled in and broke on the shore. And he could hear his mother’s laughter, which, like the warmer temperatures, always came out in the spring and disappeared in the fall.

“How about here?” Phin popped up at Silas’s elbow. “Is this a sunny enough spot?”

“Here is perfect.”

The boys fell to work spreading the plaid wool blanket and opening the hamper. Apples, rolls, fried chicken, cookies. In an incredibly short amount of time, they devoured their share and took off for the stream.

Willow, only halfway through her meal, blinked after their retreating backs. “They’d give a hoard of locusts a run for their money.”

“They’re boys. You wait. They’ll be back before long looking for something to eat.”

“They can’t possibly. After all that food?”

“It’s true. Estelle knows boys.” He lifted a towel from the basket and revealed a pan of turnovers. “After they’ve run around for a while, climbed a few trees, and fought a few imaginary battles, they’ll be back and ravenous.”

“They seem like nice boys. I have to admit, I can’t find any resemblance between Phin and Tick. Where did he get such an unusual name, anyway?”

Silas smiled. “You won’t find a resemblance because Phin and Tick are adopted. Tick got his nickname because he always sticks so close to Phin. Though now that he’s got a stable family, he seems to be gaining confidence and branching out a little on his own. He’s also much stronger now that he’s got steady medication. Tick’s got a heart ailment, and before his adoption it nearly did him in a few times.”

“That poor boy. I’m so glad he’s found a family and a place to belong.”

Again the wistfulness in her voice tugged at Silas. He had the urge to put his arm around her. “I met your sister the other night. Is it just you two, or are your parents traveling with you?”

She shook her head and lowered her chin until her hat brim shielded her face. “My parents are both gone now, my father when I was ten and my mother more recently.”

“I’m so sorry. I know how that feels. My mother passed away when I was twelve.”

When she raised her beautiful gray eyes, they were clear and untroubled. She busied herself folding napkins and stowing things in the basket. “So it’s just Francine and me. But the acting troupe is like a family. My parents were both actors, and Francine and I have followed in their footsteps.”

“So you’ve never known another life but the theater?”

“No. It’s been my whole life up to now.”

Her profile did all sorts of strange things to his concentration. When she turned to look at him, he found himself staring at her pink lips and had to tear his gaze away to focus on what she was saying.

“What do you remember best about your mother?”

“Rocks.”

“Rocks?”

“She loved to collect rocks. We’d walk for miles along the lakeshore, and she would pick up rocks. Interesting shapes or colors. We’d take them home and polish them. Sometimes we’d find an agate and break it open. Mother always said collecting rocks reminded her of how temporary we are and how big and powerful God is. Those rocks had been around since creation in one form or another, and here they were on the shore just waiting for us to come along and polish them up. And she could spot the potential, the beauty inside the rock that just needed to be let out. She said rocks were like people. If we let God polish us, He can reveal His good work in us until we can be things of beauty to glorify Him.”

“I wondered why you had a handkerchief full of rocks the first time we met.”

He grinned. “I still collect rocks, fossils, petrified wood, anything that catches my eye really. You should hear my housekeeper complain about dusting them. They are a nuisance, I suppose, but I like them. Though Sherman knocks them on the floor from time to time when he’s put out with me.”

“Sherman?”

“My cat. He came with the house. I named him Sherman because he’s as relentless and bossy as a general.”

“I’d love to meet him sometime.”

“I have a feeling you will. Let’s go see what the boys are up to.” He took her hand and helped her to her feet.

When they got to the shore, the boys were ready to fish. Willow grimaced as they baited their hooks, and Phin swaggered a bit when he told her it was all right, he’d bait her hook for her since she was a girl.

“What do I do if I actually manage to snag a fish?”

“Holler and we’ll come help you.” Phin swung her hook over the water and handed her the pole. He scampered away to join the boys upstream.

Once he was out of earshot, she laughed. “He’s quite the gallant young man under all that bravado.”

“That’s Phin. He wants everyone to think he’s tough, but there’s a heart of butter in there. Watch how he manages the younger boys. They think the world of him. Natural leadership there. I have a feeling he would make a great pastor someday.”

“Speaking of pastors, I had no idea until today you were a minister. It’s clear you’re in the right profession. I’ve never listened to a more gifted preacher.”

Pleasure shot through him at her praise. He shrugged, but he knew he’d pull out her words to treasure again later.

“Did you always want to be a minister?”

“I come from a long line of ministers, and I never really considered doing anything else. I can’t imagine not being a pastor.”

“Your father must be so proud of you.”

He shook his head, his chest pinching. “I hope someday he will be. He’s not too pleased at the moment. His plans for me never included a small congregation in Colorado. My father is Dr. Clyburn Hamilton, and he serves as the head of our denomination. According to him, I’m supposed to be teaching in the seminary where he is currently the president, writing theology books, and pastoring a large church in Philadelphia where he would be able to better oversee my advancement within the ranks.”