Makin' Miracles (10 page)

His voice had dropped, and the intimacy of his gaze made her shiver. But Zola found herself wanting to pull back instead of responding to him. He might be sweet today but cruel tomorrow. Zola wasn't so sure she wanted to open herself back up to the hurt she knew he could bring.

She got up from the rocker and started toward the porch door. “I'll walk around the farm with you for a while, Spencer. I'd like to get out and explore. See what spring things are popping up. See what little delights we might find. Are you ready?”

He nodded, seeming to accept that she didn't want to bite at the teasing bait of intimacy he'd thrown out. Zola wondered why he invited affection from her anyway after the other day? He'd seemed to almost despise her then. Zola hadn't liked the ways his eyes looked at her that day, as if she fell substandard to some gauge in his head and came up lacking. It hurt. He'd pushed her away that day. Now here he was again.

Zola could have hurt him back in kind today. Said she was busy. Flipped him off. Sent him on his way. But despite it all, he interested her. And there was something about him that tugged at her. She'd risk a little more time with him to figure it out. After all, he had come by and apologized. That was something.

She led the way out into the sunshine. “Let's go behind the shed before we start down to the farm. If we're lucky, the spider's web I saw earlier may still be there.”

They walked around behind the old shed, and then Zola pointed. The web hung between the shed and a tree trunk that grew against the side of the weathered building. It was a gorgeous spider haven, the white webbing intricate and sparkling in the sunlight.

“It looked prettier early this morning with the dew sparkling on it in the early sunshine.” Zola smiled in remembrance.

Spencer took out his camera. “Mornings and evenings are always the best time. But I wasn't sure I'd be welcome too early, and I was afraid to wander around the farm without an escort or invitation.” He grinned at her. “I kept remembering you mentioned your grandfather Devon had a big gun.”

She ignored him, directing his attention back to the spider web. “This is an orb web, the classic web many spider species build. Usually Mrs. Spider is waiting patiently in the hub, or center, of her silky network. If a juicy insect blunders into her web, she'll rush out, bite him, and carry him back into her hub. She can feel vibrations of anything that hits her web.”

Spencer was already taking pictures, leaning a shoulder against the shed to stabilize the shot.

“Look!” Zola pointed. “See that silken thread strung out from the web to that tree nearby? That's Mrs. Spider's dragline. She lays a silky line like that when she leaves her web and then uses it like a safety line to glide back home on.”

He looked at it with interest between shots.

Zola stood by the wall of the shed, watching him work. “Did you know a spider can roll up a leaf and fix it in place with silk to make a little leaf hammock to take a nap in? Sometimes if you look carefully in the trees near a spider's web you can find a leaf hammock—and sometimes with Mrs. Spider sleeping in it.”

He studied the shot he'd just taken and then looked over into Zola's eyes. “I love the way you see nature, as though everything had character and personality. You make me see things with new eyes.”

“Nature delights me. I have no trouble picturing Mother Nature governing her world and its principles like a bucolic monarch. I don't think most people reverence nature enough today. They just plow through it or drive right by it.”

“And don't have eyes to see the magic.” He finished the sentence for her.

Zola loved it when he was like this. Sensitive, poetic, artistic—alive to the world, with an inner warmth radiating out of him. So different from that dark, brooding man of the other day.

She waited, keeping her thoughts to herself, while he finished his photos of the web.

He looked up. “Could I come back early one morning to try to get a shot when the dew is on the web?”

She smiled. “Sure—if you'll give me some warning the night before. Then I won't freak out to have a man wandering around in my backyard before the sun is barely up.”

“I'll call you.” He closed the camera and put a small zoom lens back into a pocket of his vest. “Where does your next inspiration lead us, Zola? To the end of the rainbow?”

She gave him a playful push. “No. We'll head down to the farm. It's spring and baby animals are popping up in different places. There are baby sheep in Uncle Ray and Aunt Augusta's barn. They may be out in the field today; it's so warm. And I want to go by the pond to see if the tadpoles have started to jump out on the land yet.”

“To become little green frogs?” He fell into line behind her as she led the way down the woods path from her house toward the main Devon Farm.

She looked over her shoulder at him and nodded. “I noticed the limbs were starting to break through on some of the tadpoles the other day. Most still had their tails, but I bet those are going to be absorbed into their bodies soon. My guess is some fine, alluring little insects have already tempted them to hop out of the water for a snack.”

Spencer jumped in to add to her story. “Those little guys really become eating machines once they get to that stage. I read once that a frog can consume over nine thousand insects in a season.”

“Yes. And the good thing is that they eat mostly nonbenefi-cial insects. They're a natural pest-control help to the farmer.”

At the farm pond, they found frogs in several stages—some still at the spawn stage, looking a lot like green fish, some at the tadpole stage, with a more frog-like body now, and others bouncing around in froggy joy in the mud and grass by the pond's edge. Their garumphing noises occasionally broke the silence of the warm day.

Zola sat down on a log to watch the scene while Spencer took photos.

He looked up at one point. “You said the spider was a Mrs. Spider. What about these froglets?”

She gave him a saucy smile. “I definitely think of that little frog there as
Mr.
Frog.” She pointed. “He swallows his food whole. He obviously has no manners. And he actually ate one of his fellows—a smaller tadpole—only a few minutes ago. Really tasteless, aggressive behavior. Certainly not the nurturing type.”

Spencer laughed—a warm, rich laugh. “Yes, these guys are definitely active, reckless fellows. I can see how the frog in the Beatrix Potter series could have been envisioned by the author spending time watching green frogs like these hatching out.”

Zola nodded in delight. “Oh, you mean Mr. Jeremy Fisher!”

“Yes.” Spencer looked up from the camera. “I'd forgotten his name.”

“Mr. Jeremy Fisher was a lively character. I remember he wore that cute little red waistcoat and patterned vest, and he loved to get his feet wet but never caught a cold. I loved Beatrix Potter's stories and characters.”

Spencer chuckled as he took a few more shots. “Great memory. So who was the reckless toad in the
Wind in the Willows
books? Do you remember his name?”

“Of course. Toad of Toad Hall.” Zola flopped back onto the grass in the warm sunshine, a little distance from the muddy banks of the pond. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sun baking down on her and the symphony of young froglets in the background.

She felt Spencer drop onto one knee beside her. “Here. Look at this one.” He held the digital camera toward her so she could see the shot of the frog leaping in midair.

Zola laughed. “Oh. He looks joyous, doesn't he? Like a storybook character.”

There was no quick reply from Spencer. She looked up at him and saw attraction simmering in his eyes. “You make me joyous, Zola Devon. You light up my world like sunshine.”

She opened her mouth to answer, only to have it covered with his. An eager kiss. A passionate kiss. A deliberate kiss. How could she resist?

Zola opened her mouth to him, letting him in, and stretched her arms up to wrap them around him. He dropped down to partially cover her body with his, his hands reaching up to thread through her hair. She heard his breath catch and could feel his heart beating rapidly against hers.

Spencer pulled up to look down at her. He traced a finger down her cheek and across her lips. “You are a remarkable and beautiful woman, Zola Devon.”

A cloud passed over her thoughts. “You didn't seem to think so the other day. You wanted me to leave. You seemed angry at me.”

His eyes looked away from hers for a moment.

Zola reached up to touch his face. “It confuses me when you're so changeable. Sometimes I think the past has you in its grip and you forget to see the joy of the present.”

He smiled down at her. “That's it exactly, Zola. And those are my dark moments.”

She put her hands on his chest. “But this is not a dark moment, Spencer?”

“No. Not at all.” He leaned over to kiss her again.

They were soon lost in kissing and hugging until a loud
Moooo
startled them both into laughter. The farm cows had wandered down to the pond to drink, and one large brown milk cow stood right over them looking down at them curiously.

Coming back to their senses, Spencer and Zola struggled to their feet, Spencer gathering up his camera and the vest he'd taken off.

“Come on.” Zola started off across the field. “I'll race you down to the barn. We can get a drink at the hose and you can photograph the sheep.”

The rest of their afternoon was a picture-perfect postcard blur of happy memories. Zola almost forgot the moody side of Spencer from earlier in the week as they laughed together and explored the farm.

Spencer took photos of baby sheep and the children's 4-H goats. He snapped shots of Papa Vern working with the beehives, of the old barns around the farm, and of new flowers peeping up through winter leaves. Zola loved to watch him work.

At the end of the afternoon, Spencer walked her back home before he started up the mountain.

“Zeke will be missing you.” She said this to cover her desire to reach out and touch him again. He was getting to her—this deep, artistic man.

“Actually, Zeke has been missing you, Zola. Do you want to come up to see him?”

Zola felt glad she had a reason to say no. The heat was a little too intense between her and Spencer today. “I can't. I have to work for Maya at the store tonight until close. She and her daughters, Carole and Clarissa, are going into Knoxville to see the Disney on Ice show at the coliseum.”

“That sounds like fun.” Spencer's eyes continued to watch her.

“Yes. It does.” She put her hands into her pockets to keep them from reaching out to him. “I'd better go and get dressed and get a bite to eat before I go to the store.”

“Okay.” He looked down at her, moved a little closer to her, running a hand down her cheek. “I had a good time today, Zola.”

“Me, too,” she said, keeping her hands firmly in her pockets.

He grinned and kissed her nose. “I'll pick you up tomorrow night to go to Rachel Lee's house at a little after six. Do we need to dress up?”

“No. Just dress casually.”

He turned to start up the mountain.

Zola walked up the porch steps to go into the house, but then stopped, listening.

She could hear Spencer whistling in the distance. She grinned as she recognized the melody. He was whistling “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah.”

Zola shook her head. Yes—my, oh my—it had been a wonderful day.

T
he next evening, Spencer found himself remembering Aston's words as he drove to Zola's house to pick her up. He was glad Aston had encouraged him to make up with Zola—and glad she'd been willing to forgive him yesterday. As Aston counseled, he had taken his sorry ass down the mountain with that intent.

The day had turned into a better time than Spencer could have envisioned, too. Zola was truly a remarkable woman—if a little unusual. Like Aston, she was warm and open. And joyous to be with. He'd never shared a time with her that hadn't brought him some unexpected delight.

When Spencer allowed it, Zola made him feel young and carefree. She made him feel happy. And she stirred him deeply as a man with her spontaneous, generous nature. His kisses with her in the sunny field still haunted his thoughts. He didn't deserve Zola's affection, and yet, he craved it.

She waited for him on the porch of her house, sitting in the old rocker.

“Am I late?” he asked, opening the car door.

“No. I was just sitting out enjoying the twilight.”

A big white cat sat on her lap in the rocker, curled up in sleep. It opened sleepy eyes to look at Spencer as he started up the porch steps.

Spencer stopped with one foot still on the stairs to look at the cat. “He has one blue eye and one gold one.”

“He is a she, and her name is Posey.” Zola stroked the cat. “Her former owner planned to drown her for being different, because her eyes didn't match. The world is not always kind to nonconformists, to those who are different.”

Spencer frowned, wondering if she was talking about him.

“I related to Posey's situation.” Zola sat the cat over on the chair beside her and stood up. “I am different, too. Will you drown me for it, Spencer?”

He wondered where this thought had come from and felt uncomfortable.

She reached up to pat his cheek. “We'll see, won't we?” Zola unwrapped the strap of her purse from the back of the rocker and draped it over her neck, an interesting gold cloth purse, covered with colorful sequins and stitchery. She wore a long skirt, in a dark red, with a peasant blouse tucked into its waist. He could see tucks and fancy stitching on the blouse. She looked like a gypsy tonight, and her scent of apples and sultry blossoms drifted in the air around her.

They chatted about mundane things on their trip to David and Rachel Lee Howard's house. Spencer craned his neck to look at the old brick church as they passed it at the turn off Jonas Creek Road. It was so interesting in its architecture.

“How did Rachel Lee meet a professor at Maryville College?” he asked.

“She worked at the college while going to school.” Zola trailed an arm out the window like a child might, enjoying the feel of the wind against it. “When David transferred to the college to teach history, he said he felt attracted to her right away. He might have felt free to date her if she'd only worked at the school, but when he learned she was a student he had to back off.”

“The prof-student thing?”

“Yes.” Zola smiled and nodded. “However, the week before Rachel Lee graduated, David asked her for a date for the weekend after.” She giggled. “The rest is history, I guess you'd say. They're happy together. You'll see.”

It didn't take long with David and Rachel Lee Howard for Spencer to see what Zola meant. There was an easy harmony between the two. David was obviously older than Rachel Lee, perhaps midthirties. He was a thinker and a typical academic in many ways, his desk and office piled with books and papers, his conversation sprinkled with stories about his teaching and his passion for his subject. But Rachel was his match in many ways, complementing him with her natural, down-home warmth.

It touched Spencer to see the obvious affection between David Howard and his wife—and between David and his small toddler. The child obviously adored him, and David played with her with pleasure, tossing her into the air to make her laugh, riding her on his knee to a nursery rhyme.

The child remembered Spencer, too. “Big man,” she said, pointing at him when he came in.

Spencer was never able to induce her to call him Spencer. She couldn't pronounce it, but before the evening finished, she'd started calling him “Pence.”

The Howards lived in a new home, built to look like an old farmhouse. It was warm and spacious inside, with an open arrangement between the kitchen, dining room, and living area that made for nice entertaining.

Zola had been right about Rachel Lee having a gift for cooking. Everything tasted delicious, and she made it all seem easy and effortless.

After dinner, David showed Spencer some of his old photos of historical spots around the area while Rachel Lee and Zola cleaned up from dinner and got Ava to bed.

“There are some great places in the Smokies to photograph that many people don't know about.” David flipped open some pages of a book. “This is an old church and house back in the Cataloochee Valley on the North Carolina side of the Smokies, off the interstate as you head toward Asheville. Both the church and the house sit on the Little Cataloochee Trail that used to be an old settler's road. It's like an undiscovered, uncrowded Cades Cove over there. Have you been there to shoot pictures?”

“No,” Spencer answered, looking at the photos with interest.

“Well, these aren't recent pictures, of course. They were taken a long time ago, but the park has kept this church and house, several other historic houses, and a school well preserved.” He tapped his fingers on an old photo of a schoolhouse. “Rachel Lee and I spent a whole day over there exploring a couple of years ago before Ava was born. You should go over there. It's less disturbed than some areas of the Smokies. You could probably get some interesting shots.”

Spencer enjoyed an easy rapport with David Howard from the first. He liked the man, and he liked Rachel Lee, who bubbled over with natural warmth and enthusiasm.

“I'd like to photograph the church that Rachel Lee's father pastors.” Spencer sat back on the sofa, draping his arm along the sofa back. He'd eaten too much and was more than pleasantly full. “Zola said I could visit one Sunday. I think she said Rachel Lee plays the piano at services. Do you go to church there?”

David smiled. “I do. But it's a vibrantly charismatic church. A very different experience from my former Episcopal background.”

Spencer sensed a story in David's tone. “Was there a problem in that?”

“I doubt I could have married Rachel Lee if I hadn't been able to bend a little in my faith. All of Rachel Lee's family goes to the Jonas Creek Missionary Alliance Church.” He grinned. “I was suspect enough being a college professor and having come from up north.”

Spencer laughed. “How has that worked out?”

“Well, I guess Pastor Upton's warning was an accurate one.” He scratched his chin. “He warned me that if I got around that slippery creek bank of a deeper walk in the Lord long enough, I might fall in. Or the Holy Ghost might push me.”

A big grin spread over Spencer's face. “I know what you mean. I churched in the AME Zion church outside Savannah with my friend Aston Parker for most of the years I was in college and living near Savannah. I'm used to that kind of talk about the slippery creek bank.”

“Well, that may help you with Zola.” David closed the books he'd been showing Spencer and settled back into a comfortable chair.

Spencer waited.

“Zola's special. Unique. Walks to a different drummer.” David looked over at Spencer. “But then so do you. You should understand that.”

“You think so?” Spencer shrugged. “There's nothing different about me. I'm only a regular guy.”

David laughed. “You forget I've been in your gallery, Spencer. I've seen the way you look at life from your photographs. The last thing I'd call you, Spencer Jackson, is a regular guy.”

Spencer felt suddenly annoyed.

David studied him, and Spencer knew David had seen his expression change.

David smiled at him. “When I was growing up, I was always a bookish kid. Wore glasses by the time I was ten. Sucked at football and baseball. Rode my bike three miles every Saturday to go to the library to get books. I was fascinated with history, with old places, old stories. But I'm a professor of history now. I've come into myself.”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably.

Leaning back in his chair, David continued. “I wasn't a regular kid, and I'm not a regular guy. I quit wishing I could be only a regular guy a long time ago. And, over time, I've learned that deep down inside most regular guys wish they were more like me and you, Spencer. Or like Zola. But, of course, they wouldn't say so.”

Spencer wasn't sure he liked David's words. “Maybe I want to be just a regular guy.”

David grinned. “Oh, come on. Be honest with yourself. Look back in the annals of history. Who do you admire? Who comes to mind? The stand-out guys who were different and accomplished something or the regular guys? Your real hunger is to be a guy who stands apart from the crowd—at least, if you'll admit it.”

Spencer thought about his words. “I have the feeling you're giving me a familiar lecture.”

“Maybe.” David crossed one leg over his knee. “I work a lot with college students who are learning to appreciate their uniqueness, who are beginning to get over wanting to fit in with the norm and starting to develop their own individuality.”

A flash of annoyance streaked through Spencer. “You think I haven't gotten over that? That desire to fit in with the norm?”

“What do you think?” David quirked an eyebrow at him.

Spencer threw a sofa cushion at him. “I think you remind me a lot of my friend Aston Parker.”

David fended off the cushion with a laugh. “I met Parker once in the gallery. Nice guy. I'd like to know him better.”

Spencer considered this. “Maybe I'll host a dinner soon up at Raven's Den. Pay you back for the meal here. Invite Aston and Carole, the girl he's dating, Rachel Lee, you, and Zola. Maybe Clark Venable, the other guy I work with, too.”

Zola and Rachel Lee came into the room as Spencer stated this thought.

“Oh, that sounds like fun!” Rachel Lee said. She and Zola came to sit down in the living area. “Who does Clark date?”

“No one in particular.” Spencer scooped up the sofa cushion he'd thrown playfully at David and put it back on the couch.

“Well, maybe we can fix him up with someone.” Rachel Lee put her finger to her chin thoughtfully. “Let's see.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow toward Zola and grinned playfully. “Maybe Zola might have an idea. She sort of introduced Aston and Carole.”

“I can't think of anyone right off.” Zola sent him a forced grin, knowing he was baiting her.

“I've met Clark,” Rachel Lee went on. “Kind of a geeky guy, into computers and the outdoors. Doesn't dress up like Aston does to work in the gallery. Lives in jeans. Hmmm.” She snapped her finger. “Let's fix him up with Stacy.”

Zola sat up in surprise. “My cousin, Stacy?”

Rachel Lee crossed her arms. “How many Stacys do we know, Zola?”

“Well, I don't know. Stacy doesn't date much and I don't know if she'd come.”

“She'd be perfect. And if you can't get her to come, I will. She owes me for something.”

“What?” Zola asked.

Rachel Lee waved a hand. “Never mind. But she does.” She turned a warm smile toward Spencer. “So when can we all come up, Spencer? I'm dying to see what you've done with Raven's Den.”

By the time they left for the evening, a potluck dinner was arranged for a Friday evening later in the month at Spencer's place at Raven's Den. Rachel Lee planned the event so quickly that Spencer wasn't even sure how it all happened.

“She's good.” Zola said this with a smirk as they got in the car.

“What?”

“Rachel Lee. She's good. She can talk anyone into just about anything.”

Spencer grinned. “So, was she a bad influence on you growing up?”

“No. She was actually a good influence. Rachel Lee was always one of those genuinely nice people. All the things she talked people into doing were usually good for them.”

“Like getting you to eat your spinach?”

Zola laughed. “You saw her getting Ava to eat her peas by singing her a little song about peas tonight, didn't you?”

“I did.” Spencer laughed. “They're good people, Rachel Lee and David. I had a great time.”

“I'm glad.” Zola leaned back and closed her eyes.

The quiet of the evening settled around them.

“Listen.” Her voice grew soft. “You can hear an owl.”

Spencer heard it then. He hadn't noticed it before she mentioned it. But now, he enjoyed listening to it calling in the darkness.

“What kind do you think it is?” he asked.

“Probably a barn owl.” She cocked her ear. “You can tell by the sort of screaming sound it makes, really different from a hoot owl's call.”

He thought about that as he started the car and backed out of the driveway. “A barn owl is the one with a sort of white, heart-shaped face, isn't it?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “There is a barn owl nest near the old barn behind my farmhouse. Maybe it's one of those owls we're hearing, out hunting mice and voles tonight.”

Spencer's interest was sparked. “Do you know where the nest is? Do you think I could get some photos sometime?”

“Maybe.” She laughed. “Owls aren't easy to photograph, Spencer. Especially barn owls. They're hard to see. They blend in, look like tree bark. But you can come and try sometime. I'll show you the place where I saw their nest.”