Rising Darkness (20 page)

When Zac and I pulled up in front of Esther's house after lunch, I took the glass out of my purse and gave it to him. “You've got to promise me you'll tell me the results as soon as they're in and before you tell anyone else,” I said. “It's really important. After that, I don't care what you do.”

“I already told you I would. This isn't some kind of personal vendetta, is it? I mean, this guy didn't date your mother and dump her or anything, right?”

I laughed at the image of anyone dating my mom. “Not even close.”

“Odd actions for an accountant.” He held up the bag and stared at the glass. “You're not from the IRS, are you?”

“No,” I said emphatically. “Look, I'm not a hit man, I'm not from the IRS, and this man didn't date my mom. The truth is, he might be a really bad man. A criminal. You're doing a public service by getting that glass checked out.”

“Okay, I'm leaving this afternoon so I can be at work in
the morning. Give me your cell phone number, and I'll call you as soon as I get the results.”

I rattled off my number while he wrote it down on a small notepad he carried in the pocket of his jeans. “One of these days you've got to take me out for dinner when you're back in town and tell me . . . everything.”

“You've got a deal,” I agreed. “And thanks for understanding, Zac.”

He shrugged. “This is my life. Sneaking around, trying to figure out what people are up to. It's what people in the news business do.”

I wanted so badly to tell him who I really was and what I actually did, but I didn't dare. If he found out I worked for the paper, he might be tempted to scoop me. I liked him, but that didn't mean I could completely trust him.

We got out of the car, and Zac hurried upstairs to pack while I went to my room to start writing. I'd wanted to talk to Jonathon after lunch, but he was still talking to Reuben when I left.

I changed my clothes, grabbed my laptop, and plopped down on the fainting couch to write. I'd barely started when someone knocked on my door. Figuring it was Zac, I called out, “Come in!”

The door swung open, and Jonathon came in. Surprised, I swung my legs over the side of the couch and sat up, putting my laptop on the couch next to me.

He walked toward me but left the door open. “I'm sorry we didn't get to talk more. Are you busy now?”

Even though I wanted to get going on my article, I still had the rest of the day. “No, I'm fine.”

He glanced around the room, looking uncomfortable. “Could we go somewhere else? I don't think we should be in your . . . I mean . . .”

“It's a bedroom, Jonathon. Yes, we can go somewhere else. Esther said she was going over to Reuben and Wynter's house for the rest of the afternoon, and Zac is getting ready to head home. Why don't we just go downstairs to the living room?”

“That sounds good.”

He went out through the door before I could say anything else. I was touched by his desire to keep everything above board. I put on my shoes and followed him downstairs. When I reached the living room, he was sitting on the couch, still looking decidedly uncomfortable.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked. “Esther's got some apple cider in the refrigerator. How about a glass?”

“Sure, thanks. Can I help?”

“No, I think I can handle it. Be right back.”

As I walked toward the kitchen, I wondered why he seemed so nervous. I took a pitcher out of the fridge, filled two glasses with ice, and poured in some cider. By the time I finished putting the pitcher back, I was convinced he'd come over to tell me last night was a mistake. That he didn't really have feelings for me. I had the urge to run out the back door of Esther's house and keep going. But that was childish. I'd already told myself that a relationship between us wouldn't work. I was going back to St. Louis after I'd finished what I needed to do here. What did it matter?

I took a deep breath and carried the glasses to the living room. Jonathon was standing up now, gazing out the front window. He turned when I cleared my throat.

“Oh. Thank you.”

When he reached for his glass, our fingers touched. My eyes met his. “Is something wrong? You seem . . . upset.”

He took his drink over to the couch and sat down again. “So you think Martin Hatcher might be Terrance Chase?”

I sat down in the chair near him, holding on to my glass like it was a life preserver. “I—I don't know. I think it's very possible. He saw my picture of Chase right after I got to town, Jonathon. It would explain all the weird things that have been happening, wouldn't it? He's trying to stop me.”

“All the ‘weird things' . . . does that include the note from last night?”

Obviously, Nate had told him about the note. “I was going to tell you . . .”

“I hope you're being honest with me, Sophie.”

I wanted to tell him that was my intention, but it would have been another lie. I decided to change the subject. “I picked up Hatcher's glass from the restaurant. Zac is going to have it checked for prints. I don't want to accuse Hatcher for no reason, but he really looks like Chase. Nate got close to him. He has hazel eyes and a cleft chin. I really think it's him, Jonathon.”

Jonathon stared at the glass in his hands. Finally, he looked up. “I'm proud of you, Sophie. I really am. You might just bring a murderer to justice. There are families out there that will finally have closure. That's awesome.”

“That's a nice thing to say, but I don't deserve your respect. The families haven't been the most important part of this for me. And they should have been.”

“Why are you always so hard on yourself? If you didn't
care about the families, you wouldn't feel badly now. I've never met anyone who judged themselves as harshly as you do. Didn't you listen to my sermon today?”

I reached over and put my glass on the table next to my chair. “Yes, I did, and I'm trying. But you know what I've done and why it's hard to forgive myself.”

“Do you know what I've done? The things I'm ashamed of?”

“You're a good man, Jonathon. You can't put yourself in a class with me. You've never burned down a church, have you?”

“No, you're right.” He peered at me through narrowed eyes. “I only tried to kill a man.”

“I—I don't understand.”

“When you saw me here, did you expect to see Hope, too?”

“Yes. I thought you two were getting married.”

“So did I. You know why Tom went to prison, right?”

“I know he attacked Hope. Lizzie told me about it when I was getting ready to leave.”

“And that's it?”

“She said his father shot him. That's all I know about it.” I frowned at Jonathon. “How does this involve you?”

He leaned back against the couch. “The only reason I didn't kill Tom is because Sheriff Ford took the shot first. Tom was threatening to kill Hope, and I wanted him to die. I had my gun pointed at him, and I planned to pull the trigger.”

“There's nothing wrong with that. You were trying to save the woman you loved.”

“I was Mennonite. You know what we're taught.”

“Non-resistance,” I answered. “But how could you stand by and watch her die?”

“Ebbie Miller had the same choice to make. Instead of
choosing violence, he tried to goad Tom into shooting him. He figured the noise of the shot would bring help.”

“I—I don't understand. What are you saying?”

He sighed and looked down at the floor. “Ebbie was willing to put his life on the line for his beliefs. In the end, Hope chose him because of his integrity.”

“Oh, Jonathon.”

“What I'm trying to tell you is that everyone has had . . . moments. Made choices we're not proud of.”

“So what are you saying? If you'd been a better man, you'd have let Tom kill you?”

“No,” he said sharply, raising his head and staring at me. “I'm not saying that. But I am telling you that I went against everything I believed—at that time—because I was under stress. What you did was the same thing, Sophie. Your life was falling apart. What your father did to you . . . you never had a chance to react normally to the rest of the world. Getting involved with Tom and his buddies happened because you were hurting. In pain. I can understand that.”

I felt tears fill my eyes. “I knew it was wrong to set the church on fire. I did it anyway.”

“Will you come over here?” He motioned toward the seat beside him.

Trembling, I stood up and walked over to the couch.

“Sit down, please.”

When I sat down next to him, he took my hands in his. “When God looks at you, all He sees is Jesus. Whatever you did, whatever you're ashamed of, Jesus paid the price.”

“But . . . I should be punished.”

“No, you shouldn't. That's what I'm trying to tell you.
Jesus was already punished. There's no penalty left to pay. And if you won't forgive yourself, aren't you saying that what Jesus did wasn't enough?”

“But our pastor could have died, Jonathon. You said that yourself.”

“I know, and I'm sorry. I was angry.” He squeezed my hands. “Sophie, when I left Kingdom, I thought my heart was broken. All I could think about was Hope. But after I'd been in Sanctuary for a while . . .” He looked away for a moment then faced me again. “You may not believe this, but after a while, my feelings for Hope dwindled. I kept thinking about . . . you. I know that doesn't make sense, but I felt such a burden to pray for you. And I did. Day after day, I lifted you up in prayer. You know that picture at the church? The one you were staring at?”

“Yes.” My voice came out in a whisper.

“I bought that with my own money. The church board was supposed to pick out paintings for the lobby, but I had to have that one. I couldn't quite figure out why it spoke to me the way it did. Until I saw you standing next to it.”

“It looks like me when I was a girl,” I said softly. “I noticed that right away.”

He nodded, and then he let go of one of my hands and rested his hand against my face. “I realize now that's why it called to me. Because I saw you in it. The girl with amber eyes.” He took a deep breath. “When you left Kingdom, I felt a real loss. Since then, you've never really left my thoughts. Now that I'm with you again, I have feelings I can't explain. But I'd like to find out why. Maybe God brought us together again for a reason.”

“I can't believe God would want you involved with someone like me, Jonathon. You should have someone strong. Someone godly who can help you be everything you're called to be.”

“If God has a plan for us, you'll be that, Sophie. And more. Look. I realize you're not ready for any kind of a romantic relationship. You have a lot of healing to do. No pressure, okay? I just felt I had to be honest with you.”

Relieved, I nodded. “Can I ask you one thing?”

He took his hand off my face and smiled. “You can even ask me two things.”

“Why did you kiss me last night?”

He let go of my other hand. “Do you mean, was I caught up in the moment? Am I sorry I kissed you?”

I nodded again, too unsure of myself to say anything.

Jonathon put his hands on my shoulders. “I meant it, Sophie. I love you. And if the time should ever come when you're ready to accept that love, I'll be waiting.” He lowered his head to look deeply into my eyes. “Does that answer your question?”

“Yes.” A sensation ran through me. Something I'd never felt before. It was joy. Pure happiness.

We were staring at each other when we heard someone clear his throat. Jonathon let go of me and turned to look at Zac, who stood in the living room, holding a suitcase.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” he said. “But I'm leaving. Not that you two would notice or anything.”

“S-sorry.” Feeling flustered, I shakily stood up. “I'm glad I got to meet you, Zac. And thanks again for helping me out. How long do you think it will take to get results back on the glass?”

He placed his suitcase by his feet. “I'm not sure. Could take a week or two. Or they might be able to get to it right away.”

“If you can encourage them to hurry it up . . .”

“If this guy is someone who might be important to the police, they could get to it right away. Otherwise we just have to take our chances.”

I nodded. “It's possible he would be important to the police, but I'm not completely sure.”

He studied me for a moment before saying, “Look, Emily, someone at the police department owes me a favor. Let me see if I can get this rushed through.”

“That would be great. Call me with the results as soon as you can. Please.”

He frowned at me. “Okay, but if there's a story here, I'd appreciate you returning the favor. Give me a shot at it after you do whatever you need to do.”